


Bittersweet and Strange

by UndiscoveredQueen19



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Voldemort Wins, Awesome Hermione Granger, Beauty and the Beast Elements, Blaise and Theodore are the Lumiere and Cogsworth of this story, Draco Malfoy Needs a Hug, Drama & Romance, Everyone Needs A Hug, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hello naughty children it's time for a super complex plot, Hermione Granger Needs a Hug, It's going to be a wild ride, Lots of Dramione though, Mystery, Order of the Phoenix (Harry Potter), Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:54:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 97,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25947652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UndiscoveredQueen19/pseuds/UndiscoveredQueen19
Summary: “Look at me, Granger,” Draco said quietly, dangerously. “Tell me what you see.”So Hermione looked. The scars that crisscrossed his face were jagged and deep. They had probably taken years to fully turn white. Standing mere inches away from him, Hermione noticed for the first time that his right eye was clouded with a white scar as well; probably an effect from the scar that slashed through his eyebrow and across his cheek. The skin that wasn’t marred by the scar tissue was pale and clammy, and his eyes were shadowed with grief and pain. It was true; he really did resemble a monster. But Hermione could see desperation in his eyes, hurt and loneliness lining his face, and it was those emotions that made him very much human.“I see a man who was cursed to wear the face of a monster,” she said, “but who still has the heart of a man. I don’t know what you did to make Voldemort mark you so, but I certainly hope it was worth it.”*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~Trapped to share the same cursed fate in a world ruled by Voldemort, Draco and Hermione find that their differences are what make them similar and that their flaws are what make them whole. Dramione AU with a Beauty and the Beast twist.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 232
Kudos: 207
Collections: Dramione





	1. Prologue: The Curse

**Author's Note:**

> Friends! This is the beginning of "Bittersweet and Strange," which I have posted before but I am now republishing with new revisions! This is a story that has meant a lot to me for the past few years, and I hope it will mean something to you, too. This prologue is very short, but the chapters will be longer. Since this story is already written, I can promise a new chapter every Sunday night (yay, consistency!)
> 
> Also, reviews are highly appreciated and treasured :) Thank you so much for reading, and please enjoy the first glimpse of "Bittersweet and Strange."

Dark. Everything was dark.

There was pain and blood and tears, as well as shouting and cursing, in addition to the dark, but Draco Malfoy found that if he focused on the dark, the pain and blood and tears didn’t seem quite as bad.

Another sharp kick, this time to his shoulder. Then another, and another, and soon he found the comforting darkness slipping away as the relentless fury pounded him. Someone took a fistful of his hair and jerked his head up, and Draco peeled his eyes open to see what misfortune he was about to undergo. It was a mistake. No sooner had he opened his eyes when he saw the wand of Alecto Carrow heading straight for his face, and he squeezed his eyes shut again, steeling himself for whatever unbearable torture was to come next.

He had already heard the word _Crucio_ enough times to deafen him, and he had felt its effects to the extent that he could no longer scream, his voice effectively gone. He couldn’t even stand up on his own; Thorfinn Rowle had been nice enough to lash him to a tree so that he wouldn’t fall again.

The knife-sharp end of Alecto’s wand sliced into his forehead, and Draco briefly wondered if he would look ridiculous silently screaming. Alecto twisted her wand to the left, carving a long, straight line across his forehead. She then made short, vertical slices across the long line, giving the illusion of stitches that had been violently ripped out. Draco couldn’t move, couldn’t scream, couldn’t even open his eyes. _So this is what Charity Burbage endured,_ he thought.

Voldemort had won. Draco had spent years thinking that was a sentence he would have celebrated hearing, but now that the grim reality of a world run by the Dark Lord had become truth, Draco despised the sound of Voldemort’s name. With Harry Potter dead, Voldemort had gone on a rampage, publicly murdering every blood traitor and Muggleborn he could find. Most, if not all, of the Weasleys were dead, and Molly’s body had been left in the streets for weeks, as an example of what happened to anyone who killed Voldemort’s favorite Death Eater. McGonagall was publicly executed, along with several other teachers, students, and parents who had aided Harry Potter. Draco had heard a rumor that one of the Weasley twins had survived, along with one or two of the third generation Weasleys. If those rumors were to be believed, then the survivors were hiding with everyone else who had escaped Voldemort’s wrath. There weren’t many.

However, it was hard for Draco to pity the Order’s losses when he himself was suffering as the Death Eaters’ punching bag at the moment.

The torture lasted for hours. By the end of the ordeal, Draco had no doubt that even his own mother would not recognize him were she to see him. Someone cut his ropes and let him fall to the ground like a sack, then hoisted him over their shoulder and carried him several yards before throwing him to the ground again. Draco didn’t know what was about to happen, but he hoped Voldemort would just _Avada Kedavra_ him and be done with it.

It wasn’t to be so. Voldemort emerged from the group of Death Eaters, head held high and tapping his wand against his free hand casually. Draco managed to pull his head up and give Voldemort a defiant glare before his head lolled down again.

Voldemort stood directly in front of Draco and sneered. “You pitiful excuse for a human being.” His voice sounded like nails on a chalkboard to Draco. “You dared to defy my reign, and now you have paid the price.”

Draco wished he had the strength to stand up and punch Voldemort right in his nonexistent nose.

“You will not die, young Malfoy,” Voldemort continued, lowering his wand to touch the top of Draco’s bloodied hair. “In death, you become a martyr. No, you shall live in shame. There will be no friend who will stand by you. You will find no comfort, no ease to your suffering. You will live the rest of your days as a scarred, disgraced parasite, trapped in your own home.”

Voldemort turned to face the Death Eaters, who stood around him, cackling and twitching like so many mantises. “Listen well, all of you!” Voldemort shouted, filling the night air with his presence. He raised his hands to the sky. “I call upon the forces of the air, the sea, and the earth to make this house a living graveyard to the aspirations of those who dare challenge my leadership! Smother this castle in darkness, never again to see daylight on its rooftops. Let it be wrapped in gloominess and silence as long as it stands. Let the smell of death envelope this property with its foul stench, driving away every last hope of renewal. Let the thorns and thistles of the earth rise up to crush their roses; let them twine around every tower, bar every door and window, and trap their traitorous prisoner inside. Let all who see this house be reminded that the dark Lord Voldemort is the ruler of the land, and that he will exact vengeance on those who seek to destroy him. Let all see this useless scum, this wretched excuse of a man, this Death Eater who could not stand on his own decisions. Let all see this scarred outcast who shall live the rest of his days cursing his own betrayal. Let all see Draco Malfoy, the boy who shall live in death!”

The Death Eaters cheered, raising their wands and sending sparks up toward the black sky. Voldemort laughed hollowly as he turned back to Draco, his eyes narrowing as he knelt beside him and lifted Draco’s head. Draco tried to gather the strength to spit in Voldemort’s withered face, but he had none left. Voldemort gave him a wicked smile, then shouted, _“Crucio!”_ as he stood.

One by one, the Death Eaters Apparated away, laughing and jeering as they went. Draco didn’t even watch them go. He simply curled into himself on his front steps, pretending that he wasn’t cut and bruised and bleeding like a river. He closed his eyes and let the warm, sweet darkness take him away again.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

A figure in a hooded black cloak crept along silently through the shadows, casting a glance behind them to make sure they weren’t being followed. Pressing against the great stone wall, the figure inched along, turning their head around the corner of the house to check the yard ahead.

Narcissa Malfoy gasped sharply and threw her hood back as soon as she realized the Death Eaters were finally gone. She had been waiting for hours, listening and sobbing silently as Voldemort and the rest of them tortured her son to unconsciousness. Now, she flew across the yard, tears streaming down her cheeks as she reached Draco, lying on the front steps and bloodied almost beyond recognition.

She gently turned him to face her, feeling his wrist for a pulse. She had heard Voldemort say he wouldn’t kill Draco, but she still breathed a sigh of relief upon feeling a pulse, albeit a weak one.

Narcissa sighed as she looked up at Draco’s home. He had moved out of the Manor several years ago and had been living in a somewhat smaller but still lavish house. Now, covering his tall, elegant wooden doors were vines as thick as tree trunks, adorned by enormous, razor-sharp thorns. Those same vines wrapped around the tower on the right side of the house and crossed every window in a tangled barrier.

She sighed again. The damage to the house was not nearly as great as the damage done to Draco. Narcissa quickly pulled out her wand and began healing his wounds. The whole process took her nearly twenty minutes, but when she was satisfied that he wouldn’t bleed to death, she stood and faced the house. It was to be Draco’s prison for the rest of his life, unless Narcissa had anything to say about it. She was suddenly glad that Lucius was not alive to stop her, for he would have let his own son die before letting himself be disgraced.

She calmly raised her wand and closed her eyes, whispering an incantation that she had used once before. It was a reversing charm, allowing the user to alter whatever curse had been placed, provided it was done within an hour of the first curse. Narcissa had been worried that the Death Eaters would not leave within an hour, but they had. And now she was thwarting their plan. Draco would be trapped in his home, yes; but the curse could now be broken.

If someone could only fall in love with Draco and declare that love for him, the curse would be broken.

Had she been able to, Narcissa would have freed Draco from his fate and left for another country with him immediately. However, her magic was not as strong as Voldemort’s, and she could only pray that her reversing spell would be potent. It was Draco’s only chance.

When the charm was in place, Narcissa turned to pluck a single rose from the ground. It had been overtaken by Voldemort’s thorns, but Narcissa was confident that she could enchant it to be whole again.

With that, Narcissa levitated Draco back into the house to care for him. She decided not to tell him about the altering spell; he might give up hope if he knew he had get someone to fall in love with him to be free, and Narcissa wanted to keep his hope alive for as long as possible.

And even if the curse should never be broken and Draco remain trapped forever, she would stand by him until her last day.


	2. In the Enemy's Camp

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the first full-length chapter, my friends! I'm hoping to post on a bi-weekly schedule (as requested!) so hopefully I will be posting a new chapter every Sunday and Wednesday. I hope you enjoy this chapter. Please read, review, and tell me what you think! As always, much love to you all! :)

The hustling and bustling, chattering and clattering of the Order’s home base was normally a comforting sound to Hermione, but she was finding it a bit annoying on this particular Tuesday morning.

Dean Thomas passed her seat at the conference table, holding a cup of tea in his hand. He spoke to Michael Corner as he passed, pressing himself to the side to make room for Michael. When he did, some of his tea sloshed out of the mug and right onto the paper Hermione had in front of her.

“Dean!” she snapped, gingerly picking the paper up by one corner and watching it drip onto the smooth tabletop. “Why can’t you watch where you’re going?”

Dean gave her an odd look, surprised by her uncharacteristic outburst. “Merlin, I’m sorry, Hermione. I didn’t mean to, honest.”

Hermione sighed, instantly regretting her words. “I’m sorry, too. I didn’t mean to snap like that.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Dean shrugged. “We’re all a bit stressed these days.”

Hermione snorted in agreement as Dean walked away. _Stressed_ hardly began to describe the matter.

In the seven years since the Second Wizarding War’s end, the Order had been holed up in Lee Jordan’s uncle’s old summer home in Northern Ireland. There, they had spent their first three years in hiding, seeking out and rescuing the weak remnant of Voldemort’s opposition. It hadn’t been an easy task – they had lost Zacharias Smith and Alicia Spinnet to patrolling Death Eaters – but they had managed to piece the living members of the Order back together. The faithful few who lived in the Fortress, as they called their base, clung to one another for hope and encouragement. It was harder and harder to keep the faith, though. Everyone in the Order had lost someone, most of them their entire families.

Sighing to herself, Hermione pulled out her wand and cast a drying spell on the paper. It still sported a prominent brown tea stain, but it was still legible. She was reaching into her bag for a pencil when she felt someone take the seat next to her.

“Whatcha doin’, Granger?”

Hermione looked up to see George Weasley giving her a curious smile. He was glancing at the paper on the table, and Hermione quickly flipped it over. “It’s top secret, Weasley,” she shot back, feigning annoyance. If there was one person she found it impossible to be angry with, it was George Weasley. The poor fellow had been forced to stand by and watch as his entire family was slaughtered by Voldemort’s supporters, yet he still managed to keep smiling and be an invaluable member of the Order. Besides, his smile was infectious.

George grinned at her again, leaning back in his chair. “Come on, we don’t have secrets from each other here. Especially you and me,” he teased with a wink.

“You’ll find out along with everyone else at the meeting,” Hermione countered.

“But that’s only in a few minutes!”

“Then it won’t kill you to wait.”

George nodded his head to concede and turned to speak to Oliver Wood. Hermione dug out the pencil she had been fishing for and plopped a set of papers on the table just as Neville Longbottom was taking his usual seat at the head of the table. Ever since Harry’s death, Neville had stepped up to lead the Order, and Hermione had been pleasantly surprised at what a strong and effective leader he had become. The Order could never have done as much good as it had without his leadership.

Neville cleared his throat to get everyone’s attention. “Okay, everybody, take a seat and we’ll get started,” he announced.

Hermione covertly pulled the top sheet of her paper stack upside-down to hide its contents, and George smirked at her. Luna Lovegood took the seat to Hermione’s left and smiled vacantly at Hermione, glancing down at the papers before looking at Neville.

“Morning, guys,” Neville greeted. “I know this is a little earlier than we usually have our weekly meetings, but Hermione asked me if we could start early because she’s got a special announcement.” Hermione looked down as all the heads in the room turned toward her. “But before we get into that,” he continued, “Cho, have you heard anything from Katie Bell since the last meeting?”

Cho Chang, the correspondent expert in the Order, was the only one in touch with the Order’s only undercover Ministry contact – Katie Bell. Katie alerted Cho anytime the Order was in danger of being found, and Cho, in turn, kept a close eye on Katie’s safety as a spy. Cho shook her head at Neville’s question. “I haven’t heard anything.”

Millicent Bulstrode piped up from the corner of the table, “That makes eight weeks without word. Can’t we just owl her with the Ministry’s stolen owl?”

“No,” Luna stated. “It’s too dangerous. If anyone else were to see the message, Katie’s life could be in serious jeopardy, right, Neville?”

Neville smiled at her. “Absolutely, Luna. It’s a good thought, Millicent, but we can’t risk losing Katie. She’s our only contact in the Ministry right now. If we lose her, I doubt we’re going to find anyone else.”

Millicent nodded, but Hermione thought she still looked disturbed.

“So,” Neville said, addressing Michael Corner, “how are we doing with getting in touch with Pomona Sprout? Any word from Yugoslavia?”

Michael nodded enthusiastically. “I got a note just yesterday, Neville. Our contact there said Sprout is doing well and is living in a Muggle neighborhood with her sister and cousin. I don’t think we should try to get in touch with her; it could endanger her safety for her to have any contact with the Wizarding World. However, our contact said he would let Sprout know that we know she’s alive and would send her our best wishes.”

There was a quiet hum through the room as everyone nodded appreciatively. After the executions of Minerva McGonagall and Poppy Pomfrey, Sprout was the only Hogwarts teacher living. The Order had taken it upon themselves to ensure her safety.

“That’s good news,” Neville said. “Does anyone have anything to add?”

No one did, so Hermione started mentally preparing for what she was about to say.

Right on cue, Neville looked at Hermione and nodded. “Okay. I think Hermione has something important to tell us all. Hermione?”

Hermione nodded back, managing a faint smile before standing and picking up her stack of papers. Speaking in public always made her a bit nervous, even if she did consider the Order her family. “Thanks, Neville. I’m sure you all remember four years ago when we began our search for Dennis Creevey?” Most of the Order nodded in agreement. “Then I’m sure you remember how it ended. Dennis was one of the last to be officially declared dead, mainly because nobody could find him. That, plus his blood status as a muggleborn, led us to believe he was probably killed in either the Battle of Hogwarts or in one of the rampages the Death Eaters made in the days following the battle. Cho, if I remember correctly, Katie was unable to find his name on any of the execution lists?”

Cho nodded. “He wasn’t recorded in any of the prisons or the slave markets, either.”

“Right. And, considering the fact that he was both a muggleborn _and_ a member of the Order, it’s pretty unlikely that the Ministry would have let him slip through the cracks. I know I, for one, was on the most wanted list for years after the War. It wasn’t until Parvati used that clever transfiguration trick on the muggleborn girl who was already dead that Voldemort finally was convinced that I was gone. Justin Finch-Fletchley was pursued much the same way, you’ll recall.”

“Okay, you’ve made your point,” Romilda Vane said impatiently. “Dennis Creevey had a lot working against him and has probably been dead since the beginning. Where are you going with this?”

Hermione stared her down as she spoke. “I’m saying this: Dennis is alive.”

There was silence in the conference room for several seconds before Neville spoke quietly. “How do you know that, Hermione?”

Hermione took a deep breath. “Because I saw him myself.”

Whatever sense of politeness that had been keeping the room in silence suddenly burst apart. It seemed everyone was talking at once, but no one could hear what anyone else was saying. Neville finally managed to shout over the din and make everyone sit down. He directed his question to Hermione. “How did you see Dennis?”

This was the tricky part. “I was in Diagon Alley,” Hermione replied, trying to keep her voice steady. “I had run out of knotgrass for the Polyjuice Potions we need for next month, so I –”

“Going into enemy territory without telling anyone is against the rules,” Angelina Johnson interrupted. Angelina’s position as the head of security in the Order made her particularly concerned with the revelation. “You could have been seen, Hermione!”

“I was very careful,” Hermione assured her. “I transfigured my features and covered my hair and wore glasses and an old robe. I wasn’t about to risk my life for a potion ingredient.”

Hermione’s reassuring words did little to calm Angelina. “All it takes is one person spotting you and putting the pieces together. We have these rules for a reason!”

“It’s okay, Ange,” George said. “Just let her finish.”

Neville agreed. “We’ll talk about the rule-breaking later. For now, just tell us about Dennis.”

Hermione gave him a grateful nod before plowing ahead with her story. “On the way to the shop, I passed by a pavilion where a man was selling muggle and muggleborn slaves. I thought it would be a perfect opportunity to get a look at the place and see the people who were being sold, and I saw Dennis with them.”

Dean shook his head. “It’s been seven years, Hermione. It could have been anybody. You said yourself Dennis was probably dead.”

“I know it was him, Dean,” Hermione answered emphatically. “But I knew it would be hard to believe, so I took a very discreet picture. I had brought my bag with me, and my camera was in it.” Hermione reached down and flipped the paper over that George had been looking at earlier. “I’ve enlarged it as much as I could without losing the quality. Tell me what you think.”

Hermione slid the paper toward Neville, who picked it up and examined it closely. Those seated near him craned their necks to see. George leaned over to Hermione and whispered, “Now I know why you didn’t want me to see it earlier.”

After several long moments of silence, Neville passed the picture to Parvati and looked up. “When was this picture taken, Hermione?”

“Last week,” she replied. “Friday afternoon. I would have told you sooner, but I wanted to make absolutely sure it was him before I got everyone excited. And before I got myself in trouble,” she added, shooting a meaningful smile at Angelina.

“That was four days ago,” Neville said seriously. “That’s easily long enough for Dennis to be sold.”

“I know that,” Hermione said. “But, like I said, I wanted to make sure it was him before I told anyone.” Everyone looked at her curiously, save for Nigel Wolpert, who was staring intently at the photograph. “I took the liberty of asking the slave master for a list of the slaves he had, and he let me look at it.”

“What?!” This time, it was Lee Jordan who leaped to his feet in disbelief. “You _spoke_ to someone? A slave trader? In public?”

“I know, I know, it was risky,” Hermione conceded.

“More than risky,” George added.

“Hermione, you’re on Voldemort’s most-wanted list,” Angelina said, giving her a hard look. “Even if he thinks you’re dead, all it takes is one little slip-up for you to be discovered. And once one of us is discovered, all of us are in a lot more danger.”

“I know,” Hermione sighed. “But I –”

“This is him!” Nigel suddenly shouted over Hermione. “I know it is!”

Neville looked at him seriously. “Are you positive?”

Nigel nodded excitedly. “Of course I’m positive! I shared a room with him for four years! I’d know him anywhere. It’s definitely him.”

Nigel’s enthusiasm drew several more people to stand, gathering around the photograph that Neville had picked up again. Hermione took her seat once more, shuffling through her papers and finding the one she was looking for with ease.

“Cho, what do you think?” Neville asked. “You saw him a good deal at the Tri-Wizard Tournament.”

Cho furrowed her brow as she studied the picture. “Well… it’s been a long time, but the resemblance is definitely there.”

Neville nodded, then looked at George. “George, go get Fleur. She and Seamus are on watch duty up at the North Tower. Tell her we need her to identify someone.”

George quickly stood and Apparated to fetch his sister-in-law. Neville turned back to Nigel. “Not to discredit your word, Nigel. It’s just been a long time, and we need to make sure it’s him before we make any decisions.”

Nigel nodded. “I understand. But I’m telling you, there’s no question in my mind; that’s Dennis Creevey if I ever saw him.”

A few moments later, Fleur Weasley Apparated into the room with George, looking flustered but excited.

Neville stepped toward her and handed her the picture. “Fleur, who does the man in this picture look like to you?”

Fleur studied the photograph for only a few seconds before declaring, “Ees thees Dennis Creevey?”

Hermione sighed in relief, and Neville seemed to do the same. “Yeah, we think so, Fleur. Thanks. We’ll update you as soon as we’ve got everything figured out.”

Fleur smiled and nodded before Apparating back to her guardpost.

“Well?” Hermione asked. “What more proof do you need? Fleur knew him on sight.”

Neville nodded. “I know. All right, I think we’ve got enough evidence to at least investigate. I guess we’ll get a group of five together –”

“I think I should go alone,” Hermione interjected.

Another long moment of silence. Neville simply stared at her, while others began to shake their heads or open their mouths. Luna beat them to it.

“Why do you say that, Hermione?” she asked curiously.

Hermione smiled at her gratefully. “Well, I’ve thought about it a lot, and as we’ve said, it’s very dangerous to go out in public. It would be even more dangerous for a group of us to go. Like Angelina said, if one of us is discovered, it puts us all in danger.”

Angelina frowned. “I was talking about going off by yourself without telling anyone. I didn’t mean –”

“I know,” Hermione said. “I wasn’t trying to twist your words, but there’s a lot of truth to them. The more unfamiliar wizards are seen together, the more suspicious people are going to get. Plus, even if we disguised ourselves through Polyjuice or transfiguration, there is always the chance we could slip up. No plan is perfect, especially when there are a lot of people involved. Secondly, Neville, I’m not trying to challenge you, but what five people are you going to get? When we were doing our rescue missions so frequently in the three years after the War, it was a lot easier to get big missions like that done. For one thing, the Death Eaters were much more unprofessional and easy to fool because they weren’t organized as well as they are now. My main point here is that we aren’t as expendable as we used to be. I’m not saying anyone was ever truly expendable, but we’re much more organized now, and if we lose someone for awhile on a mission – or even permanently to the unthinkable – it’s going to be a very grave difference.”

Neville frowned at her. “Hermione, are you suggesting that, out of all of us, you’re the most expendable?”

“Not exactly,” she responded, trying to ease the tension. “I’m just saying that if you, Neville, were to be gone for a while, it would take a lot of people from their various positions to take your place during that time. And Cho – who would correspond with Katie if she left? And Luna is irreplaceable when it comes to keeping the wards intact. Michael has contacts all over the world that might need him at a moment’s notice. George is busy with the supply rations. Fleur has Teddy Lupin and Victoire to think of. The list goes on! Everyone here has a position that they are responsible for, and that position is imperative to keeping the Order going. If anyone here is expendable, it’s me,” she finished, looking meaningfully at Neville.

“No, you’re not,” he argued. “You keep the Order going as much as I do, or anyone else, for that matter. You keep all the records and distribute the money, and your impact is more felt than seen. I couldn’t even begin to describe all the things you do, Hermione!”

“Neville’s right,” Parvati said, keeping her eyes on Hermione. “No one could replace you, Hermione.”

Hermione shook her head. “Nigel has been helping me a lot with the bookkeeping; it’ll be good for him to have some practice with doing it solo. As for the money, Romilda handles it more than I do; I’m more of a go-between. If you remember, I was the one who coordinated most of the rescue missions in those early days. I’ve had more experience with them than nearly anyone here, except maybe Neville and Dean.”

“Hermione,” George said sincerely, “we know you’re capable of going after Dennis. No one’s questioning your abilities. It’s just… you’re the last of the Golden Trio living. If something happens to you, it will be like losing another family member.”

Hermione could see the pain in his eyes and knew he was remembering his family’s deaths, as well as Harry’s. She wanted to comfort him somehow, but she wasn’t sure that any of her words would be comforting. “I know, George. We’ve all lost countless members to the dark side, and the thought of losing any of you is heartbreaking to me, too. But think about Dennis. He’s lost his whole family, too, but he hasn’t had anyone to help him deal with it the way we’ve all had each other. He’s all alone and being sold as a slave, and I for one can’t stand the thought of it.”

“No one is belittling Dennis’ situation, Hermione,” Neville said gently. “We just don’t think you going after him alone is the answer.”

“I know. But listen, I saw the slave pavilion when I was there Friday. I wandered all through it. I can see it all in my head. If we all went – or even if we went one at a time – it would take precious time for five people to memorize it and then formulate a plan to save Dennis.”

“If you were so worried about Dennis, why did you wait this long?” Lee asked.

“I told you, I wanted to make sure,” Hermione said. “If I had been wrong –”

“If you had been wrong, we would have ended up saving some other poor muggleborn who’s in slavery and who happens to look like Dennis Creevey,” Lee finished. “Do you plan on just getting Dennis, Hermione? Because when you get there and ten dirty children are sitting on the floor in chains and looking up at you pleadingly, you’re not going to be able to leave them behind. Then what? Are you going to stage a great slave escape? There’s no way you could do that singlehandedly.”

Hermione sighed. “I know, Lee. I’ve thought about that, too. But remember what our priority is? Get enough of the Order back together so we can take back the Wizarding World and defeat Voldemort? I promise I won’t let my feelings get in the way, but we have a duty to Dennis to save him so he can join us. Plus, who knows where he’s been? He may have some vital information to getting an advantage on the Death Eaters.”

“You don’t know that,” Michael countered.

“I don’t,” she agreed. “But it’s still worth a shot.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“Draco, dear, will you please eat something?”

Draco shook his head at Narcissa. “No, thank you, Mother. I’m just not hungry.”

“That’s what I’m worried about,” Narcissa replied with a frown. “You’ve gotten so thin. Are you eating at all?”

Draco shrugged. “I eat enough.”

Narcissa sighed. They were seated in Draco’s kitchen table, a modest room comped to the rest of the house. It was Narcissa’s weekly visit, the highlight of her week. She would have gladly visited every day, but Draco warned her not to push Voldemort’s patience. Only in the last two years had the dark lord allowed Narcissa to visit Draco at all. The few hours they spent together per week were too precious to risk losing.

Draco stood and started to take his and his mother’s plates to the counter, but Narcissa stopped him. “Allow me,” she smiled, levitating the plates to their destination.

“I’m not a child, Mother,” Draco muttered, taking a seat once more. “I don’t need you to do everything for me.”

“Don’t rob me of my chance to baby you while I’m here,” she teased. “Besides, it’s only fair that you have a little magical help when you can get it. I can’t imagine how hard it is to live without a wand.”

Draco shrugged again. The past five years had been spent teaching himself to do things ‘the muggle way’, as his wand had been taken by Voldemort. He had managed to learn a bit of wandless magic, but for the most part, he did any work manually. Life had taken a very strange turn, but after five years of repetition and mundanity, Draco had become dulled to the pain.

Narcissa gave him a sad smile. “Draco, you seem downcast. What’s the matter?”

“What’s the matter?” Draco echoed incredulously, letting a rare hint of desperation show in his voice. “The matter is the same as it’s been for the last five years, Mum. I’m trapped in my own home with no escape. I have a face that looks like a cracked mirror. I have no magic, no contact with the outside world. You’re the only one I’ve seen in person for two years!”

“Now, that’s not true,” Narcissa said. “Why, only in the last year, I’ve managed to gain admittance for Blaise and Theodore.”

“Yes,” Draco grumbled. “Zabini and Nott. What bringers of cheer.”

Narcissa frowned. Draco was not usually this cross with her. She had become accustomed to his foul moods ever since the beginning of the curse, but he had seemed particularly upset during her last few visits. “Draco, I can tell something is troubling you. More than usual, I mean. Has something happened?”

Draco scowled and put his head in his hands. “Mum… I feel like I’m going crazy! Every day is exactly the same as the last.” He suddenly leaped to his feet and began pacing the room. “Voldemort knew that death would be an escape for me, so he gave me this punishment – something that would be even worse than torture. He called me ‘the boy who will live in death.’ It’s like being an animal in a cage!”

Narcissa looked disturbed. “Draco, I know this must be difficult, but –”

“Difficult?” he repeated. “Difficult?! This is hell, Mum! I live the exact same nightmare over and over! Every day I wake up and see my own hideous face, and I have to live knowing that I’m an enemy of every living creature on the earth. I am completely and utterly alone! I could live for a thousand years and never find peace. Even my dreams are haunted by that night! I can’t sleep, I can’t eat, I can’t think… It’s like living in a recurring nightmare!”

“Draco, I know –”

“How could you know?” he snarled. “How could you possibly imagine? You have your magic, your freedom, your life. You could never know what I go through.” He put his head in his hands again, grinding his fists against his face. “I wish Voldemort had killed me that night.”

“Draco!” Narcissa exclaimed. “Don’t say that!”

“It’s true,” he said, sounding more lost and afraid than angry now. His hand shook with anxiety. “He put me here alive so I could be tortured and so I could be an example to the rest of the Wizarding World. All I know is that living is worse than dying when you’re cursed.”

Narcissa looked away. She couldn’t bear the sight of her son in such agony. She suddenly wished that she had told him about her own counter-curse, that he could have some far-off hope of redemption, but she dared not tell him. It would only serve to enrage him further.

“Perhaps you should consider a hobby, Drac-”

“A hobby?” he echoed in disbelief. “What, see how much uglier the scars get by the day? Find out which poisons kill a man the fastest? Raise a cockroach farm? There is no room in my life for happiness anymore, Mum. There’s no room for anything but misery!” He reached onto his place at the kitchen table, grabbed his water glass, and hurled it against the wall in a fury. He stared at the broken pieces on the floor for a moment before slumping against the wall exhaustedly.

Narcissa stood silently and waved her wand at the glass, reassembling it and setting it on the table. Pocketing her wand, she walked to where Draco was leaning against the wall and pulled him into an embrace. He sagged against her, laying his head on her shoulder as if he were a child again.

“I’m doing it for you, Mother,” he whispered hoarsely. “That’s the only reason I haven’t done myself in yet. For you.”

Narcissa pulled back, placed her hands on his shoulders, and looked him right in the eye. Her heart ached with the pain reflected in his eyes. “I love you, Draco. Please remember that. One day, we’ll find our happy ending.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“Now remember, no unnecessary risks,” Neville repeated for the fourth time. “If anything happens and you need help, send a Patronus or just Apparate back. We won’t put up any new wards until you get back.”

Fleur nodded in agreement. “That ees right. I will make sure of that.”

Hermione smiled gratefully at them. “Thank you.”

It was Tuesday afternoon, and Hermione was preparing to leave for Diagon Alley. It had taken several more hours of arguing for Hermione to get the Order to see it her way, but Neville had finally agreed that Hermione’s plan was a solid one. A Portkey was too dangerous since it could lead back to the Fortress, but Parvati had transfigured Hermione’s features enough to be unrecognizable. She had strict instructions to locate Dennis is the slave pavilion and Apparate back to the Fortress with him the moment she found him. If Apparition wards were up, she was to immediately come back and tell them, at which time they would revert to the group of five plan. If Hermione couldn’t find Dennis at the pavilion, she was to send a Patronus and tell them, at which time she could search for his records and find out where he was. It seemed to be a foolproof plan, as long as everything went the way they were expecting it to.

Hermione hugged Neville and Fleur goodbye. “We’ll see you in a bit,” Luna told her. Out of everyone in the Order, Luna seemed not to be worried about the mission. “I’ve got a feeling it could lead to our success,” she had said in the meeting.

After her goodbyes had been said, Hermione stepped to the center of the conference room to Apparate. She felt a wave of uneasiness wash over her suddenly. Talking about a plan was one thing; actually Apparating into the middle of enemy territory was another.

“You sure you want to do this, ‘Mione?” George asked quietly. He always seemed to know what she was thinking. Hermione gave him a small smile then nodded. It wouldn’t do to let the Order see her discomfort.

“Be safe, Hermione!” Angelina called. The rest of the Order shouted their agreement, and Hermione couldn’t help but smile as she Apparated. It was a good feeling to have family.

When she had regained her senses and felt secure in her footing, Hermione looked around at Diagon Alley. A witch with bright green hair passed her and didn’t give her a second look as she jostled past Hermione. A group of laughing teenage wizards shoved past her as they chased one another down the street.

That was a good sign. Parvati had enchanted Hermione’s features to be as plain as possible to remain unrecognizable, and that was what the plan hinged on. Hermione started making her way through the crowd, avoiding bumping into as many people as she could. The slave pavilion was only about twenty meters ahead, but the dense crowd blocked Hermione’s view of the establishment.

After fighting her way through the mass of people for a good five minutes, Hermione was standing in front of the slave pavilion and peering inside cautiously. She didn’t recognize anyone she saw, which was comforting. She walked inside casually, glancing around at the tough-looking guards who stood on either side of the doorway. She gave them a nervous smile before moving ahead and toward where the slaves were being kept.

The slaves sat in large fenced-in areas, some glaring defiantly at customers and others staring at the ground vacantly. The defiant-looking ones were shackled to posts and beams. Hermione’s heart broke when she saw a little girl, no more than eight years old, with tears rolling down her face as she looked up at Hermione. Hermione had to look away for fear that she might blow her cover.

_Someday,_ she thought. _Someday I’ll come back and free you all._

Hermione refocused herself and began treading along the stone floor, looking into every slave pen she passed. Slave pen. The words made a shiver run up Hermione’s spine. The suggestion of the word made her think of livestock, and thinking of people in that fashion made her sick. It could just as easily have been her in those pens as Dennis Creevey or any of the people there.

Forty minutes later, Hermione started to head back for the entrance. She had combed through every single slave pen meticulously, enough so that passersby had begun to give her curious looks at her obvious scrutiny. She considered asking the slave master for a look at his slave list but decided against it; he had been eyeing her oddly for the last few minutes, and Hermione was ready to get away from him.

She strode for the doorway, nose in the air like she knew a Pureblood would, but out of the corner of her eye she saw the slave master wave a hand to the guards at the door. In tandem, they stepped in her way, effectively blocking her from leaving.

Hermione put one hand on her wand. She had already overheard one vendor mention anti-Apparition wards around the pavilion. No one had noticed the guards’ odd behavior, and Hermione hoped it would stay that way. If she ended up having to fight her way out of the shop, she wanted to fight as few people as possible. The guards didn’t move, simply glaring at her with their arms crossed.

The grizzled slave master approached her slowly, his mouth twisted to the side. “Pardon me, madam, but may I ask yer name?” he rasped.

Hermione tried to sound confident as she replied. “Cora Goodstone,” she replied haughtily. “And who is asking?”

“Augustus Sparrow,” the slave trader replied. “I don’t mean to bother ya, Ms. Goodstone, but I believe I saw ya in here the other day. Would I be correct in guessin’ that?”

Hermione thought quickly. “Yes, you would. I was in here last Wednesday looking at one slave in particular. A tall young man with thick blonde hair and a large scar on the forehead. Is he still here?”

“Ah, no, ma’am, he was sold jest two days ago,” Sparrow replied.

Hermione sighed petulantly. “And where might I find his new owner? I simply must speak with them about a trade.”

“No,” he said. “I’ll not be tellin’ ya anything just now. I have a theory, and I want to test it. Pardon me, ma’am.” Sparrow suddenly whipped out his wand and muttered something under his breath, casting a spell over her. Hermione’s wand was out, but the damage had been done. She could feel her features transforming back to their original state. “I knew it!” he shouted. “I knew it was her! Grab her, boys!”

Hermione made a desperate dash for the door, hoping she could Apparate back to the Fortress before they could follow. However, luck was not with her, as one of the guards lunged forward and wrapped his arms around her, holding her back with incredible force.

Sparrow stood in front of her mockingly, reaching out and grabbing her wand from her. “I’ve seen yer face all over posters, _Miss Finberry,”_ he spat. At Hermione’s confused look, he laughed. “Don’t give me that innocent look. I’d know yer face anywhere.”

Given the circumstances, Hermione guessed that Sparrow wouldn’t know Miss Finberry anywhere, but she kept the thought to herself. She tried her only card. “I’ll have you know that I’m a spy from Bristol! We’re sick of your tyranny! Let me go this instant, or you’ll have to deal with my people!”

Sparrow and both of the guards laughed bitterly. “Listen, you impertinent chit, I know exactly who you are. You’re a Mudblood on the run! I don’t know what you came in here fer, but if was the biggest mistake of yer life. My slaves don’t ever get away, and they know their place, Mudblood! You’ll wish you had never come to this pavilion!”

Hermione believed him. Every head had turned to face her, and all the slaves looked at her with an expression of pity. As the guards dragged her toward the back room, Hermione didn’t bother to kick or scream. It was no use; they had her.

_Maybe,_ she thought, _I can somehow find Dennis this way._ But looking at the guards’ wicked smiles and the slaves’ grim frowns, Hermione doubted herself.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Narcissa strutted along, glancing around Diagon Alley occasionally as she made her way to Madam Malkin’s. She stopped to greet Calliope Greengrass and spoke to several of her other acquaintances before she suddenly halted in front of the slave pavilion. Narcissa had never actually been inside one of the establishments, but some of her friends had bought muggleborn slaves from the traders and had been pleased with the results.

Narcissa thought for only a moment before she made up her mind and strode into the pavilion. She had no intention of buying a slave for herself, but Draco… 

_It could be just what he needs,_ Narcissa thought. Even though she doubted that a Mudblood would break the curse – and even though the idea made her cringe – she knew that no self-respecting Pureblood witch would even come near Draco in his cursed state, much less fall in love with him. A muggleborn slave would probably despise Draco at first, she thought, but if she could learn to love him… the curse stood a chance to be broken. Narcissa’s heart beat faster at the thought. Even if love never bloomed, at least Draco would have someone to keep him company.

Strolling through the slave pens, Narcissa frowned upon seeing young children, no older than ten, chained to a wall, looking despondent. In the next pen, several men and women sat next to a large stake that anchored their chains. And in the next pen…

In the next pen was a young woman, probably around twenty-five years old, who sat against a wall with her arms crossed, wild brown hair tangling around her face. Narcissa was instantly drawn to the girl and approached her pen, leaning against the fence to get a better look at her. She was painfully thin and gaunt, but she looked wiry and strong-minded, if the look on her face was anything to judge by.

And there was something more – some spark of recognition or some reminder of someone Narcissa used to know. It transfixed the older woman, almost making her gravitate towards the slave girl. Narcissa continued staring at the girl and didn’t even notice when Augustus Sparrow came to stand beside her.

“Ah, Mrs. Malfoy, how are ya today?” he drawled.

“I am well, thank you, Augustus,” Narcissa replied. “I wonder, would you tell me who that girl is?”

Sparrow’s mouth turned down in disgust. “That’s Amelia Finberry. Wanted Mudblood. Came in here trying to pass herself off as a Pureblood witch, but I knew it was the Mudblood.”

Narcissa nodded absently, never taking her eyes off Hermione. “I see. How much is she?”

Sparrow looked at her incredulously. “Mrs. Malfoy, I don’t think Finberry is one ya want. This is yer first slave, correct? Well, ya wouldn’t want a headstrong thing such as her for yer first. Give me some time to break her in, and then I’ll let ya know. Now, I’ve got a –”

“I said, how much for her?” Narcissa persisted.

Sparrow sighed. “Fifty Galleons.”

The girl suddenly looked up and right at Narcissa. Shadowy blue eyes met warm brown ones, and Narcissa made up her mind.

“I’ll take her.”


	3. The Beast's Castle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, friends! Here's chapter 3 of "Bittersweet and Strange." I hope you all are having as much fun reading this as I am writing/publishing it. Read, review, and enjoy! :)

Hermione followed Narcissa Malfoy through the bustling turns of Diagon Alley, trying to keep her mouth from hanging open in shock. She didn’t dare try to run away; Augustus Sparrow had pounded it into her head that escape was impossible due to a charm he had placed on her. Besides, her wand had been taken from her, and she knew very little wandless magic. The future seemed bleak already.

_She had been bought as a slave by Narcissa Malfoy._ The thought hardly even seemed possible. She was to be a slave for the mother of one of the most wretched persons she had ever met. To her credit, Narcissa had not said a single word to Hermione yet, allowing Sparrow to make the necessary arrangements and then motioning for Hermione to follow her. Hermione was grateful for that; she needed a while longer to process the situation in her mind.

Narcissa Malfoy. Hermione knew very little about the woman, other than the fact that she was a Pureblood and proud of it. She had been married to Lucius Malfoy, a known Death Eater, and was the younger sister of Bellatrix Lestrange, the most ruthless woman Hermione had ever met. Besides, if Narcissa had raised a disgusting scum such as Draco Malfoy, Hermione wasn’t sure that much good could be said about her. And now Hermione was her slave, bought and paid for. She cringed. Hopefully Narcissa would just give her housework to do and not make her accompany the witch out in public like some prized possession. She wanted to at least stay busy until the Order came for her.

The Order. _I should have listened to them,_ Hermione couldn’t help but think. _They told me not to come alone._ The thought depressed her, but she tried to think logically. This mission had been no different than dozens of other missions she had undertaken in the past. In fact, compared to sneaking Penelope Clearwater out of Antonin Dolohov’s mansion – a task Hermione had done singlehandedly – rescuing Dennis from a public slave pavilion seemed like child’s play. She wasn’t sure what had gone wrong, but she attributed it mostly to a set of unlikely coincidences. Parvati had accidentally enchanted her features to resemble those of some poor muggleborn on the run. _Well_ , Hermione thought, _I guess some good will come out of this if the real Amelia Finberry is thought to be captured._ At least someone would be aided.

Narcissa nodded to a pinch-faced woman in a pointed hat standing outside the entrance of Flourish and Blotts, obviously not intending to speak to her. However, the woman was determined and strode toward them. “Narcissa!” she exclaimed in a shrill voice, holding out her hands in greeting.

Hermione thought she saw Narcissa grimace slightly before turning and greeting the woman with an equally polite smile. “Camille Nott. How nice to see you.”

“And you!” Camille replied. “How is that new rose bush doing?”

“It’s fine. I doubt that autumn was the best time to buy it, but I’m sure it will bloom next spring. I’ll take good care of it till then.”

“I’m sure you will,” Camille replied sweetly. “I’ve always thought –” She stopped short, noticing Hermione standing behind Narcissa for the first time. “Narcissa!” she exclaimed again. “You bought a slave! How charming!”

Narcissa nodded patronizingly. “Yes, she’s the first one I’ve bought. I’ve had my qualms about it, you know – buying and selling human beings seems a bit primeval – but –” 

“Oh, Narcissa, they’re just Mudbloods!” Camille laughed. “They’re barely people at all.”

Hermione stiffened, not taking her eyes off the other woman. If she had only had her wand, she would have hexed that imperious gossip until her head spun.

Narcissa nodded, still looking vaguely disturbed. “I know, Camille, it’s just –”

“There’s no question about it! They’re inferior, Narcissa, worthless and inferior. Why, I’d love to have someone to do my housework for me, but my husband won’t let me have one in the house. He says it’s too dangerous, since they could steal your things or even murder you in the night! Filthy muggles don’t need magic to make your life miserable. Ah, if only we still had house-elves. It’s a shame they all died with the Order.”

Hermione bit the inside of her cheek, praying that Narcissa would end the conversation quickly, before Hermione lost her temper and told Camille Nott exactly what she thought. However, she couldn’t risk being recognized. Who knew what kinds of people were in Diagon Alley? Seven years of a hard life had weathered Hermione’s face, but she would still be recognizable to someone who had seen her enough in the past.

“Yes,” Narcissa agreed quickly. “I know what you mean. Well, I’d best be on my way. It’s been –”

Camille stepped in front of Narcissa. “Wait! Let me have a look at her first.”

“Camille, I really –” Narcissa began.

“It’ll only take a second.” Camille circled Hermione slowly, looking her up and down. She peered her pointed face right into Hermione’s grabbing her chin and twisting her head to the side. “Well, she looks like a strong little thing, doesn’t she?” Narcissa didn’t answer. Camille motioned for Hemione to turn around, and Hermione gritted her teeth as she obeyed. _Don’t make a spectacle,_ she thought to herself. _Just grin and bear it._

“It’s a good thing my boy Theodore didn’t see her,” Camille finally said. “She’s just his type, you know. Why, he bought a girl just a few months ago. Looked a lot like this one. Longer hair, a little curvier, but still a good resemblance. He had his fun with her, let me tell you,” she said, giving Narcissa a sly look. “He eventually sold her to Felix Goyle, but he’s been looking for another one. Better not let him see this one, Narcissa. You might find yourself out a slave.”

Narcissa tried to hide her impatience behind a smile. “Thank you, Camille. I’ll keep an eye on her. Now –”

“What are you going to use her for?” Camille shrilled. Hermione wished they could just leave already.

Narcissa sighed. “Well, housework mostly, probably. I might have her run errands every now and then, but she’ll probably be an indoor slave for the most part.” Camille nodded absently, and Narcissa took her opportunity. “Well, Camille, it’s been good to see you. Tell Thomas hello.”

Camille nodded and smiled back. “I’ll do that. Good luck with your slave!”

Narcissa waved goodbye to her as she left, and then she and Hermione began walking again. Hermione hoped Camille didn’t come for a lot of visits to Malfoy Manor; she didn’t think she could stand to have to put up with her any more.

They walked in silence for a while, Hermione trying to think of some way to escape but coming up empty. If she could somehow get hold of someone’s wand, she could send a Patronus, but even that seemed too risky. There really seemed to be nothing to do but wait for the Order to realize something had gone wrong.

Hermione didn’t realize Narcissa was talking to her for a few moments. She snapped out of her thoughts and asked, “Ma’am?”

“I said, how long has it been since you were captured, Amelia Finberry?”

Small talk? _Well, it’s better than cruelty,_ Hermione thought.

“Um, I was actually just captured this afternoon,” Hermione told her, trying to alter the sound of her voice.

Narcissa nodded. “Well, it’s a good thing I came by, then. Theodore Nott just passed us, and it looks like he’s on his way to the slave pavilion.”

Hermione glanced behind them, but she couldn’t distinguish any one person from the rest of the tangled mess of witches and wizards. “I see.”

There was another long pause of silence, and Hermione didn’t dare speak first to Narcissa. Finally, the older woman spoke again. “I suppose I might as well tell you now.” Hermione raised her head curiously as Narcissa stopped and turned to face her. Her hard blue eyes gazed at Hermione seriously, and she took a deep breath, as if preparing herself for what she was about to say. “I didn’t buy you for myself, Amelia Finberry. I bought you for my son, Draco.”

Hermione knew the look of horror on her face must have been apparent, for Narcissa cleared her throat and looked at the ground. Draco Malfoy? She was to be the slave of Draco Malfoy? The boy who had tormented her all through school, who had killed Dumbledore and joined the Death Eaters? Surely the hint of compassion she had seen in Narcissa would not allow her to turn a poor muggleborn slave over to such a ruthless monster. Hermione felt tears welling up in her eyes.

Narcissa looked back at her with determination. “I’m sure this comes as a surprise to you, but, under the circumstances, I thought it best not to tell Mrs. Nott the truth.”

Hermione looked away. Could this really be happening?

“I think a bit of company will be good for him,” Narcissa declared.

_Oh, does he not get enough company from the people he murders?_ Hermione thought. She didn’t respond.

Narcissa tried again. “He’s very lonely. I was with him just this morning, and he was in a state I haven’t seen him in for a long time. He has no one to keep him company, alone in that house, and I can only see him once a week. No Pureblood witches will have anything to do with him, and though I would rather him keep more –” she hesitated, “– reputable company, the only way I can think of to give him someone to be with is to get him a slave. He won’t be happy about this, but, well…” She trailed off.

Hermione was puzzled. “Mrs. Malfoy, I don’t mean to sound impertinent, but I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Narcissa looked up in surprise. “You don’t know of the curse?”

Hermione shook her head. Amelia Finberry, on the run as she was, probably was out of touch with the Wizarding World gossip. Besides, Hermione was genuinely curious; she knew nothing about any curse on Draco Malfoy.

“Well,” Narcissa began, “Lord Voldemort invoked a curse on Draco after a… well, Draco did something that made him angry, so he put a curse on Draco never to be able to leave his home. He has no wand, no magic, and no freedom. Two years ago, I managed to convince Lord Voldemort to allow me to visit him once a week, and his friends, Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott, come occasionally as well. Since you don’t have a wand, you will be able to enter as a muggle and I won’t have to clear you through Voldemort, but once you’re there, I’ll have to bind you to his service. That means you won’t be able to leave until he can.”

Hermione was stunned. It didn’t make sense. Voldemort never kept his enemies alive, yet he had robbed Draco of his freedom and magic and left him alive. Did he want him to suffer for his misdeed? Still, it didn’t seem like a usual move on Voldemort’s part. She had a thousand questions she wanted to ask, but she decided on the most important one. “When will he be able to leave?”

A conflicted look passed Narcissa’s face, and Hermione thought she appeared to be debating on whether or not to tell Hermione something. “He can’t,” she finally answered. “Draco is trapped in his home for the rest of his life.”

Hermione felt the breath being sucked out of her lungs. The rest of his life? Did that mean… she would be trapped there just as long? If she was bound to Draco magically and he was bound to his home, she would be just as much a prisoner as he was! The Order would never be able to rescue her.

Narcissa seemed to sense her anxieties. “If it helps at all, Draco will not mistreat you. He is bitter and angry about his situation, but he is not abusive or mentally deranged. He will give you a place to sleep, food to eat, and work to do. Without magic, he lives much like a muggle, and I’m sure you’ll be more comfortable that way. All I ask of you is that you treat him with respect and kindness.”

Hermione scowled. “How can I respect someone who hates my kind and has tried to annihilate all the things I love?”

“You’ll find that he is not as much of a monster as he seems,” Narcissa frowned. “The Wizarding community seems to picture him as a beast, living in a forbidden castle with a terrible curse placed upon him. They treated me with contempt when Lord Voldemort first cursed him, but they seem to have forgotten the issue after five years. If anyone remembers, they simply overlook him and treat me as though I am not related to him. It pains me, but he truly is safer when he is only an image in peoples’ minds.” She sighed. Narcissa couldn’t have been very old, but Hermione suddenly thought she looked haggard, worn down by her troubles.

“I do not ask you to be his lover or his loyal pet,” Narcissa said quietly. “I only ask that you keep him company. I fear that he has lost his will to live. He needs someone to talk to. Please, I beg of you; help me save my son.”

Hermione couldn’t find the words she needed. Narcissa Malfoy was asking her – no, _pleading_ with her – to live with and befriend Draco Malfoy, a Death Eater who was apparently hated by both Voldemort’s followers and the Order. It seemed an impossible task. Narcissa had promised that he wouldn’t harm her, but Hermione had no guarantee of that. He had hated her for years, and she had no reason to think that had suddenly changed. Would he beat her? Rape her? He could certainly even kill her, with or without magic. She had no wand, no way to defend herself or escape. Two headstrong people with differing opinions and spite for one another sharing a living space for an indefinite period of time seemed like a recipe for trouble to Hermione.

But, then, what choice did she have? Narcissa legally owned her, and soon she would be magically bound to Draco. Her only chance was to play along with this horrid game and keep her eyes open for an opportunity to escape.

Hermione nodded. “I’ll do what I can.”

Narcissa straightened, regaining her regal air and turning around again. She walked forward and Hermione followed her. After a few moments of quiet, Hermione ventured, “Mrs. Malfoy?”

“Yes?”

“What if your son doesn’t want me?”

“Then I’m afraid he’s going to have to swallow his pride. A slave will be good for him. Now, I have a few things to tell you, and I expect you to remember them and obey them. Do you understand?”

Narcissa had returned to her haughty demeanor now, and Hermione suspected that she wouldn’t be seeing the tender, desperate side of the woman again for a very long time. “Yes, ma’am,” she replied dutifully.

“Draco looks… well, he doesn’t look like he used to,” Narcissa said tentatively. “He’s no monster, as people make him out to be, but his appearance can be… startling, if you aren’t used to it. I don’t suppose you ever saw him before, but he used to be quite handsome. He still is, it’s just… oh, never mind. You’ll see him when we get there. As I was saying, under no circumstances are you to mention his appearance. It will only get him riled up, and he can be quite unreasonable when he’s angry. When you first see him, don’t jump or gasp. If he mentions it to you, politely agree or just don’t say anything. Is that clear?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Hermione said. It couldn’t be too hard. How bad could he really look?

“And another thing,” Narcissa continued, never looking back at Hermione as she spoke. “Try to keep him from drinking as much as you can. He tends to drown his sorrows in alcohol, much like his father did, and it makes him unbearable. Don’t make him angry by refusing to give him any, but if he asks for a drink, give him water or pumpkin juice. Hopefully, he’ll get out of the habit.”

“I understand.”

“Also, don’t try to escape,” she said seriously. “There is no way out of the house, and it will only waste your time and energy. Just focus on making his life – and yours, I suppose – as pleasant as possible.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Hermione wondered if she should cross her fingers behind her back as she said it.

“One more thing.” Narcissa whirled around to face Hermione again, and Hermione had to stumble back to keep from bumping into her. “Don’t tell him that I have told you any of this. Do you understand? she asked sharply.

Hermione swallowed. “Yes, ma’am.”

Narcissa softened. “Good. And, Amelia, if Draco mistreats you at all – and I don’t think he will – but if he does, tell me when I come and visit him.”

Hermione looked at Narcissa curiously. “Yes, ma’am. And thank you,” she added.

Narcissa nodded. “You’ll find that not all of us believe as Mrs. Nott does.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The house itself was frightening. Years of disrepair had turned the formerly-white stone to a dull gray, giving it an ominous aura. Evening was falling, and the sky behind Hermione was orange and pink in the sunset; the manor, however, seemed to be covered by a black cloud, enveloping the property in darkness. A horrible stench rose up from the ground, and Hermione fought the urge to cover her nose. Enormous black vines adorned with thorns as long as a wand grew up from the foundations of the house and crawled up the walls, effectively blocking every door and window. Hermione took a deep breath. She was suddenly glad for Narcissa’s company. She should hate to have to enter the house _and_ meet Draco Malfoy alone.

Narcissa approached the house calmly, showing no signs of being affected by the smell or the off-putting appearance of the building. Hermione trailed behind her, willing Neville or George or Luna to appear and take her back to the Fortress. But she knew they would not come. They wouldn’t dare come after her for awhile – at least until they realized she hadn’t sent them a Patronus.

Narcissa strode up to the towering front door and tapped the foremost vine with her wand. Hermione watched in amazement as the thorny vines parted, moving up, down, or to the side to clear a path to the door. Narcissa pushed the great door open, and Hermione hurried through. Turning around, she watched as the vines knit back together, forming a dense thicket once more as Narcissa shut the door.

Hermione turned back to stare at the entry hall and felt her jaw dropping once more. It was simpler than Malfoy Manor, but it was beautiful nonetheless. Several oak doors were open, and Hermione could glimpse a sitting room to the left and a dining room to the right. The furniture was small but ornate, and everything seemed to be dark. It wasn’t just the colors, either; the whole room seemed to be smothered in darkness. Hermione noted that there were no mirrors visible in any of the rooms.

“I’m afraid Draco isn’t a very good housekeeper,” Narcissa said, eyeing the dusty corner of the floor. “You’ll have your work cut out for you.”

Hermione said nothing as she continued staring. A bold stone staircase spiraled to the upstairs, and the upper floor appeared to be as dark as the main floor. Everything was made of stone – the walls, the ceilings, the floors. _That will be fun to clean,_ Hermione said to herself, stifling the urge to roll her eyes.

“Draco!” Narcissa suddenly called. Hermione jumped as Narcissa’s voice rang out and echoed off the walls. Hermione suspected that even a whisper would echo in this house.

Narcissa called twice more before they heard footsteps echoing on stone floors upstairs. Draco wasn’t dragging his feet, Hermione thought, but he didn’t seem to be in any hurry, either. She felt her stomach twist into knots. What would it be like to see Draco again? Would he recognize her? It had been seven years since he had last seen her, and surely he had seen a lot of people during that time. She looked different enough; grief and toil had lined her face and hardened her features. Maybe she stood a chance.

Hermione flinched as she heard him coming down the staircase. The shadows cast from the upstairs obscured him from her view for the most part, but when Narcissa stepped to the side and Draco stood at the base of the steps, it took all of Hermione’s strength not to gasp as Narcissa had said.

If she had seen him in a crowd, Hermione would never have recognized Draco Malfoy. He was much thinner than she remembered – almost eerily so – and the slump to his shoulders told her that any of his former arrogance was diminished. But his face… his face looked like some sort of macabre painting. Chalky white, jagged scars decorated his skin like lace, crossing over his forehead, cheeks, and nose and slashing across his eyes. The marks trailed down his high collar and even appeared to mar his hands, from what Hermione could see. One scar in particular, winding around his temple and across his nose and jawline, made Hermione cringe. Enemies or not, she wouldn’t wish such horrid disfigurement on anyone.

Narcissa stepped toward Draco, seemingly not noticing his scars. Hermione assumed that Narcissa had grown used to the marks, but she didn’t see how she ever could.

“Who is that, Mother?” Draco hissed. “You know I can’t see anybody.”

Narcissa nodded. “I know, dear. But this is different.”

“Different how?” he snarled. He turned to face Hermione, and she tried not to shrink under his glare. “Come to stare at my scars, huh? Quite a sight, aren’t they? Why don’t you step into the light so I can really give you a scare?”

Narcissa frowned. “Draco, please.” Seeming uncomfortable, she commanded, “Amelia, you heard him. Step into the light.”

Hermione didn’t have a choice. She did as she was told, stepping forward and praying desperately that Draco wouldn’t recognize her.

No such luck.

As soon as she was visible, Draco gasped quietly and stepped back, nearly tripping on the bottom step. He sat down heavily, never taking his eyes off her.

“What’s the matter, Draco?” Narcissa asked, looking between Draco and Hermione. “Is something wrong?”

Draco moved his lips, but no sound came out. Hermione stood stock-still, hoping against hope that he wouldn’t reveal his identity. “Who is that?” he finally croaked.

Narcissa put a hand on his shoulder. “This is Amelia Finberry. She’s a muggleborn slave. She was brought in just today.”

Draco hardly even seemed to hear his mother. He didn’t say a word, just gaped at Hermione. She looked away. His staring was quite uncomfortable.

“She’s been on the run,” Narcissa ventured. “She’s not used to slavery, but –”

“How?” Draco burst out. He was still looking at Hermione.

Narcissa frowned again. “How what, Draco?”

Draco tried to speak again, but his words failed him and he shook his head, finally tearing his eyes away and looking at the floor.

“She’s yours, Draco. I got her for you.”

Draco looked up at his mother in disbelief. “For me?” he whispered. At Narcissa’s hopeful nod, his silence was suddenly broken. Draco leaped to his feet and looked back and forth from Narcissa to Hermione. “For me?!” he shouted. “Mother, I – I can’t have a – I mean, I can’t –”

“You can,” Narcissa broke in. “And you will.”

“But I –”

“You were telling me just this morning how lonely you are, Draco! Well, now you don’t have to be lonely! You have someone to keep you company!”

“A slave, Mum?” Draco shouted again. “A muggleborn slave?!”

“Yes, Draco. Just because she’s muggleborn doesn’t mean she can’t keep you company. You’ll have someone to talk to and… be friends with, and she can help you keep house.”

_“Keep house?”_ Draco repeated, sounding catatonic. _“Friends?_ Mother, if the only way I can have company is to force a _slave_ to live with me, then I’d rather be alone!”

“Well, who else is it going to be?” Narcissa demanded, matching Draco’s fiery tone. “No Pureblood is going to come, and Voldemort won’t allow them, anyway. This is your only option, Draco, take it or leave it!”

“Who said I wanted options?” he growled. “I know for a fact that I could never live with that – that – _her!”_

“Draco, how can you say that? You don’t even know her yet!”

Draco hesitated, glancing at Hermione. “I don’t have to know her,” he finally said, sounding somewhat calmer. “I don’t want her. You keep her, Mum. You need company as much as I do.”

“That’s not true, Draco,” Narcissa said gently. “This will be good for you. I want you to take her.”

Draco shook his head slowly, but he found no words and collapsed back onto the stair.

Narcissa continued. “It isn’t a death sentence, Draco. If anything, it’s the cure to one. You won’t have to be lonely anymore. She’ll cook and clean for you, and she can help you with any projects you have –”

“I don’t have projects,” Draco said, his voice muffled by his hands over his head.

“Well, anyway, she’ll be company for you. I know this isn’t an ideal situation, but it’s still an option. If you’ll just be good to her, she’ll be good to you. Please, Draco, for your sake and mine, just accept it.”

There was a long moment of silence, and Hermione could almost hear the fierce conflict in Draco’s mind. Finally, he looked up, sighed, and said, “All right, Mother. I’ll take her.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Hermione didn’t realize that she hadn’t said a word since arriving at the house until Narcissa announced that she was leaving. After having placed a charm that bound Hermione to her new owner – Hermione cringed at the thought – Narcissa had made sure that all necessary arrangements were in place before gathering her things together. It was already dark outside, and she needed to be getting home, she said. Hermione’s stomach churned at the thought of being alone with Draco.

Narcissa left out the front door and Apparated when she was outside the boundaries of the property. Hermione watched her go and shut the door carefully as the thorny vines wove back into their places across the doorway. She took a deep breath and turned around to find Draco quietly staring at her, any previous anger having given way to shock.

She faced him squarely, determined to show him courage. Still, she didn’t say a word. What was there to say?

Draco stared at her for another very long moment. Finally, he very quietly asked, “Hermione Granger?”

Hermione sighed and closed her eyes. He knew.

“Why didn’t you tell her?” she asked after another long pause. “If you knew, what difference would it have made?”

“A great deal of difference,” he replied softly. “If Voldemort still thought you were alive, he would stop at nothing to have you dead. I can’t believe you weren’t recognized in town.” When Hermione didn’t say anything, he began walking toward her. “Hermione Granger. How are you alive, after all this time of the world thinking you were dead?”

The calm, gentle tone of his voice surprised her. She hadn’t expected this kind of welcome. “I… I’d rather not say.” She didn’t know how much she could trust him. Ostracized from the Death Eaters or not, there was no chance she was going to mention the Order to him.

Draco simply stared at her, standing mere feet away from her spot near the door. Hermione didn’t mind, but she didn’t think she would like it if he tried to touch her. “I can’t believe you’re here,” he whispered hoarsely.

Hermione could hardly believe her ears. What was going on? Was this even the same man she had once known? Even though his face had changed, surely his personality couldn’t be so different as well.

She cleared her throat. “You didn’t answer my question. Why didn’t you let on to your mother who I am?”

Draco stared at her for another moment, the shrugged. “I guess I didn’t think it would be worth it. You’ve made it this far; it seems a shame that I should be the one to give you up.”

Hermione tried to hide her surprise. “Then you think she would turn me over to Voldemort if she knew?”

“No,” Draco replied. “I don’t. But the less people that know who you really are, the better. Especially if you’re living here.” He paused again, then asked, “What did she say your name was?”

“Amelia Finberry,” Hermione said. “Some poor muggleborn who will probably end up going off the radar now that they think I’m her.”

Draco nodded thoughtfully. “I’ll have to remember to call you that.” He took another step forward, but when Hermione stepped back, he stopped. “You’re too smart to get caught like this, Granger. How did they ever get hold of you?”

Was he testing her? Seeing how much she would reveal? What was he getting at? “A case of mistaken identity,” she finally ventured. “I was pretending to be someone elite, but Augustus Sparrow the slave trader mistook me for Amelia Finberry and sold me as such.”

“What were you even doing at the slave market? That slimeball Sparrow is the only one ever there.”

“I – I’d still rather not say,” she stuttered. There was no way he would get her to mention Dennis Creevey, either.

Draco nodded absently. He still hadn’t taken his eyes off of her, and his stare was making Hermione uncomfortable. “Would you mind not staring so much?” she finally snapped.

His eyes widened, and he looked away embarrassedly. “Sorry. I just can’t believe I’m actually seeing you again.”

Hermione opened her mouth to ask him a question, but Draco beat her to it. “You’re probably pretty surprised by how I’m acting. It’s only been seven years, but those seven years have been rather strange for me. I assume my mother told you about the curse?” Hermione nodded. “Well, it’s kind of… let’s just say that complete isolation for five years changes a person a lot.”

Hermione cautiously nodded. “I can understand that. I’ve changed a lot, too.”

He pressed his lips into a thin line. “I would imagine. I hardly even recognized you at first, you look so different.”

“Well, hardship will do that to you,” she smiled slightly. She was dying of curiosity about his scars and what all the curse entailed, but she didn’t dare ask – at least not tonight.

“My mother will be by sometime next week,” Draco was saying. “I’d probably either be crazy or dead if it wasn’t for her. Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott come by every once in a while, too. I guess I’ll have to hide you whenever they come over. Can’t have them seeing you…”

He gave Hermione a strange look. “Listen, Granger, if I could set you free, I would. I don’t have any use for a slave. I’ve been doing for myself for five years now; I certainly don’t need your help. But as long as you’re here, I guess we might as well make the best of it.” He swallowed uncomfortably. “You don’t have to worry about me trying to… take advantage of you or anything like that. You can have the room on the third floor. Mine’s on the second.” He looked around, as if trying to think of anything he had missed. “You can go anywhere in the house that you want. You won’t be able to go outside as long as you’re bound to me, so just do whatever you want. I can make out a list of things for you to do if you want, but it’s not necessary. Like I said, I can do pretty well for myself.” He gave a small laugh. “I do things more of your muggle way than anything else.”

Hermione merely stared at him, floored. Did he actually expect her to trust him? Sure, he seemed different, but it could all be an act. Maybe he was planning to get back in Voldemort’s favor by turning her in. _That has to be it,_ she thought.

She certainly couldn’t let him know she was onto him, though. She nodded graciously. “Thank you, Draco. I appreciate your kindness. I’ll do all I can to make my time here as pleasant as possible.”

Draco’s eyebrows raised one at a time. That obviously wasn’t the reaction he had been expecting. “Ah… all right then. Um, I think I’m going to bed now. It’s getting late. You can, too, if you want.”

Hermione nodded, and Draco turned to go up the staircase again. Hermione followed, taking in her surroundings as she climbed higher. The second floor wasn’t as fancy as the first floor, but it was blanketed by the same heavy darkness. The third floor was much the same, and Draco pointed her to her room at the end of the hallway. “There it is. If you don’t like it, you can pick a different one.”

Hermione gave him a forced smile. “I’m sure it will be fine. Thank you.”

Draco ducked his head as he started back for the staircase. “Yeah. Well, I, uh… I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yeah.”

Hermione could hear Draco’s footsteps echoing on the stone floors as he descended the stairs and went to his own room. When she was sure he was gone, Hermione crept into her room, looking around cautiously for any trick that might be waiting for her. Finding none, she surveyed her surroundings. It was a modest but comfortable-looking room, with a twin bed, a nightstand, a chest of drawers, and a lampstand. There was a single window, but it was screened by the heavy thorns outside.

Hermione suddenly wished that she had some of her own belongings to decorate the room with, or even her own clothes to fold in the chest of drawers. It felt more like a prison cell than a bedroom, and as she curled up in her bed that night, silent tears streaming down her cheeks, Hermione could only pray that it _would_ be temporary rather than a permanent lifestyle. She honestly didn’t think she could bear that.


	4. Melancholy Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 4 of "Bittersweet and Strange" is here! This is a shorter chapter but I hope you will enjoy it nonetheless. The chapters get longer from here, so please stay tuned for more this Sunday :) As always, thank you for reading my story, and please leave a review to tell me what you think. Happy reading, friends!

“It’s been almost eighteen hours, Neville. Hermione should be back by now!”

“And even if she isn’t back, she should have sent us a message to let us know she’s all right!”

“I told her it was crazy to go off by herself. It’s been years since she’s been on a solo mission!”

“That doesn’t mean she isn’t capable!”

“I didn’t say she wasn’t capable!”

“Neville, what are we going to do?”

“Yeah, you said we would protect her at all costs. Well, she’s missing. Now what?” 

Neville sighed and rubbed his eyes wearily for what seemed like the hundredth time. He hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before, but the same could be said for the rest of the Order. It was now seven o’clock in the morning, eighteen hours since Hermione had left the Fortress to track down Dennis Creevey, and the Order had gathered in their conference room to try to decide what needed to be done. _She should have sent a Patronus yesterday,_ Neville thought, but they had received no word since Hermione had left.

Neville opened his eyes again. “Listen, I know what you’re all going through. I’m having the same experience. You’re right, Seamus; Hermione should be back, and like Dean said, she should have sent us a message to let us know what’s going on. I know it was part of what we agreed on, but we have to remember that Hermione is in the middle of enemy territory. There’s no telling what kinds of wards are up or what situations she’s run into that might be inhibiting her from contacting us. That doesn’t necessarily mean she’s in trouble, just that she’s in a tricky spot. Whatever it is, Hermione is a bright, intelligent witch. We’ve all witnessed that firsthand. She has gotten out of a lot of situations most of us would have died in. I doubt she would let herself get captured, but if she did, she’s smart enough to lay low until we come for her.”

“And when will that be?” Oliver demanded. “If she’s been captured, we may have a very small timeframe to work with.”

“I realize that,” Neville conceded. “But keep this in mind, too – if she hasn’t been captured and we come storming in to rescue her, that would blow her cover and possibly endanger both hers and Dennis’ lives.”

Lee nodded in agreement. “And it would alert the Death Eaters to our presence.”

George looked at Neville with frustration. “Neville, I know what you’re saying. Hermione is competent and probably not in danger. But if she is in trouble and we don’t come for her, it’s only a matter of time before she’s recognized and killed immediately. It’s like Oliver said: we don’t have much time to play with. Even if it endangers the mission, Hermione comes first.”

Neville nodded, but Angelina spoke before he could. “Don’t forget that trick she pulled last week,” she reminded everyone. “She wasn’t supposed to leave without telling anyone. It could be that she just decided not to tell us what’s going on so she can follow a lead of her own idea.”

Neville frowned. “Angelina, I don’t think Hermione would do that.”

“But what if she did?” Cho chimed in. “Then all this worrying would be for nothing.”

“No, it wouldn’t,” Luna said. “She’s still our friend. We have a right to worry about her whether she’s in trouble or not.”

Romilda broke in. “Still, we’d look pretty foolish making a daring rescue for her if she’s just hanging around the slave pavilion or shopping for books.”

“Don’t say that!” George exclaimed. “Hermione is a friend to everyone here, and she would never say things like this about any of you! She went for one purpose – to rescue Dennis Creevey – and if I know Hermione, she won’t stop until she has found him and can bring him back. Something must have prevented her from contacting us. She would never just abandon orders to chase her own lead.”

“She did it last Friday,” Angelina grumbled.

“All right, all right,” Neville said, raising his hands to dispel the tension growing. “Everyone just calm down. This is not a debate. We’re just concerned about our friend and need to figure out a solution.” He sighed. “How about this? We’ll give her until tonight at dark. If she’s not back by then or she hasn’t sent word, we’ll form covert groups to spread out and look for her. We can’t risk rushing in to save her and her not even being there. We need to do this quietly. It’s a lot like the Katie Bell situation; we can’t afford to lose her on account of our desperation.”

The room was silent for a moment, but everyone slowly began to agree with Neville’s plan. “But what if tonight is too late?” Nigel asked.

“We just have to pray it isn’t,” Neville replied grimly.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It was no use. It was just no use at all.

Hermione let out a frustrated breath as she stepped back from the single window of what was probably supposed to have been a conservatory. It was one of the only windows she hadn’t yet tried, and it, too, was firmly blocked by the enchanted thorn vines. The fire poker she had been using to try to pry the vines apart was now completely bent out of shape, and her hands were scratched and bloody from the sharp thorns.

Most of Hermione’s first night in Draco’s manor was spent futilely attempting to escape through her bedroom window, but her hard work had been for nothing. Since she had risen and begun prowling around the house, she had gone into most every room to try the windows, to no avail. She knew full well that she was magically bound to the house by Draco’s curse and her enslavement to him, but it still would have been nice to make some progress.

She hadn’t seen Draco at all since the night before. She briefly wondered if he was spying on her, but she immediately dismissed the thought. He had no magic, and she would be able to see him if he were standing in the room with her. She didn’t even know where he was; for all she knew, he was on top of the roof.

Hermione collapsed in a nearby armchair. She was frustrated, but she wasn’t even close to being ready to give up. Though the problem was certainly a tricky one, she knew the Order would be coming for her soon, and she intended to at least have a list of ideas for escape when they found her. They all had their wands; surely they could reverse the binding charm.

Hermione stood and stretched her sore arms, only then realizing that it was nearing noon and she had not yet eaten. She wasn’t sure where the kitchen was, but she suspected it was on the first floor. As she walked down the third floor hallway, she peeked into the rooms she passed. Draco was not in any of them that she could see. She didn’t have a problem with that; she wanted to avoid him as much as possible.

As she was working on the stubborn vines the night before, Hermione had given a lot of thought to Draco’s reaction to her. He had seemed almost relieved after Narcissa left – even somewhat shy and awkward. She supposed it was a result of being shut up in a house and completely isolated from humanity. At least she couldn’t hold his abnormalities against him.

Still, she couldn’t help but suspect he was trying to lull her into a false sense of security, then snap the trap shut and turn her over to Voldemort – or even kill her himself. She wasn’t sure why he would go to all that trouble – besides, he had seemed genuine enough – but years of fighting for her life had made Hermione wary of wolves in sheep’s clothing. One evening of politeness wasn’t nearly enough to cancel out years of being a vicious Death Eater.

Hermione wandered through the dining room and found that the kitchen was only a short distance away. Casting a quick glance around to make sure Draco wasn’t around, she opened one of the cabinets and, seeing some bread, meat, and cheese, decided to make herself a sandwich. She stayed silent as she worked, smiling to herself as she realized that she was living like a muggle again. It was somewhat comforting; though she strongly wished that she had her wand, it was still nice to do something simple and productive without the aid of magic.

She had just sat down at the kitchen table with her sandwich and a glass of water when Draco suddenly walked into the room. Hermione reflexively leaped to her feet, then awkwardly looked at the tabletop when she realized how unusual her actions must have seemed. Draco glanced at her briefly but didn’t acknowledge her further. Instead, he strode toward the cabinets and began rummaging through the shelves before pulling out a small vial of green potion. He downed it in one gulp, tossing the vial aside and letting it hit the opposite wall. Hermione jumped slightly as the vial hit the floor, cracking but not shattering.

Draco leaned against the counter for a moment, breathing heavily, but he finally turned around and nodded to Hermione. When he didn’t speak, she said, “Morning, Malfoy.”

He swallowed, raising a hand to wipe sweat off his forehead. “Granger.”

She tried again. “Um… is everything okay?”

“It’s fine,” Draco replied stiffly, sounding pained.

Hermione only nodded, looking down at her still-untouched sandwich. “Is it your scars?” she asked quietly.

Draco cocked his head to the side. “How did you know that?”

“Well,” Hermione shrugged, “I remember how Harry’s scar would hurt from time to time. I just thought maybe you had the same problem.” He didn’t reply, and she continued. “If so, I’m sure yours are worse than Harry’s, since they… uh…” She remembered Narcissa’s strict order not to talk about his scars, but she had slipped up.

Draco lowered his eyebrows. “Since they make me look like a candidate for a freak show, right?”

“I wasn’t going to say that.”

He shook his head. “Well, if you must know, yes, it’s my scars. They hurt a great deal sometimes, and when they do, it makes me irritable. So irritable I want to break something. So please do me a favor and don’t talk when I’m like this. Don’t come near me. Don’t – don’t even look at me!”

Hermione nodded, but Draco didn’t see. He was already striding for the door. “Um… is there anything I can do?” she called after him.

“No!” he shouted back. “I said don’t do anything! Just eat your sandwich and find something to do! Just stay away from me!” He turned and stormed out of the kitchen, his footsteps echoing off the stone walls. Hermione looked down at her plate. Suddenly she wasn’t very hungry.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Hermione scrubbed furiously at the stubborn stain on the sitting room wall’s corner. She had been scrubbing for hours, but she was too angry and persistent to give up without getting that one black stain that marred the otherwise gray stone. She could feel the rag starting to fray from her vicious rubbing, but she honestly couldn’t bring herself to care.

After swallowing a few bites of her sandwich, Hermione had taken Draco’s advice and found something to do. It had given her plenty of time to stew over his harsh words and work herself into a thunderous fury. Finding some cleaning materials in a hall closet, she had done what she supposed was the last thing Draco would expect: she had decided to clean the house from top to bottom.

After all, wasn’t that one of the things a slave was supposed to do? Clean the house? Besides, it gave Hermione a chance to prove to Draco that she wasn’t going to let him bully her into submission; if he was as honest and easygoing as he was trying to convince her he was, then he would feel bad about his roughness and apologize. And after hours of brewing over her fury, she was more than ready to hear Draco Malfoy apologize.

It was taking a lot longer than she had thought it would. Hermione was a perfectionist, and it had taken her two hours to get the entry hall to look how she wanted it to look. The other two and a half hours had been spent attacking the stained walls of the sitting room. That one giant black stain was really starting to bug Hermione. She had paid special attention to it after realizing it reminded her of Draco.

She stopped short as her fingernails scraped the stone wall. She had finally worn through the rag. Having gone through four of them already, Hermione decided to make the trip to the second-floor hall closet and get more rags. She hadn’t realized she would run through them so fast.

Making her way up the staircase as quietly as possible, she realized that she had no idea where Draco was. She wondered if he would even care that she had been cleaning just to spite him, given his earlier reaction. It might even enrage him further, and Hermione was sure she didn’t want to be on the receiving end of that. Still, it had given her something to do all afternoon, even if it didn’t take her mind off her troubles.

Hermione reached the second floor and padded down the hallway, keeping an eye out for Draco. All the doors of the hallway looked exactly alike, and when closed it was impossible to remember which one was which. Hermione reached out for the door handle of what she thought she remembered as the closet, but to her surprise, it was locked.

_That’s strange,_ she thought. She had been positive that all the doors in the manor were consistently unlocked. She suddenly pulled back when she realized that Draco was probably inside the locked room. A muffled shuffling behind the door made her pull back quickly and dash for one of the unlocked doors. She pressed herself to the wall of the closet she had originally been looking for and hoped Draco wouldn’t look for her. Trying not to flinch, she heard a key turn in the lock and the first door swing open. There was silence, and then Draco shuffled back into the room, closed the door, and locked it. 

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. She hadn’t been discovered. Grabbing a few more rags from a top shelf, she flew out of the closet and down to the first floor as quickly as she could.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

After making herself a quick dinner, Hermione had made short work of the sitting room and was working on another large, empty room, which Hermione guessed was where the house-elves would have lived. She shuddered a little at the thought. Hermione had been devastated to learn that most of the house-elves in the Wizarding World had been killed for sport by the Death Eaters, but at this point, she was just glad that they didn’t have to be around to suffer Voldemort’s wrath anymore.

It was nearing eight o’clock in the evening when Hermione finished the house-elf room and moved on to what used to be a ballroom, or at least Hermione assumed that was what it had been. It was the largest room she had seen yet on the first floor, but she guessed that it was one of the largest in the household. Taking in the sheer size of the room, Hermione decided to tackle the ballroom the next day.

She leaned backwards, stretching out her tired muscles. Spiting Draco was going to leave her sore and irritable the next day, and Hermione wasn’t looking forward to it. At least she would be able to match Draco in his disagreeable mood.

Hermione picked up her basket of cleaning items and moved to the next room, the kitchen. She had already decided that it would be her last room before going to bed. The sky was darkening, extinguishing the tiny shafts of light that peered through the vine-wrapped windows. She set to work, polishing the tabletop and counters until they shone. She had just started taking everything out of the cupboards to dust the shelves when she heard a noise coming from the dining room. She frowned. How had Draco gotten in there without her noticing?

Hermione quietly made her way to the doorway between the kitchen and dining room and was surprised to see Draco Malfoy sitting at the long oak table. A nearly-empty bottle of Firewhiskey sat in front of him, as well as a smaller, completely empty bottle and a shot glass. Judging by the bottles’ contents and the dazed look on his face, Hermione surmised that he had probably been drinking for hours. He had his head resting on his forearms, obviously trying to forget the pain from his scars.

Hermione suddenly remembered Narcissa’s words to her. _He tends to drown his sorrows in alcohol, much like his father did, and it makes him unbearable._ Hermione wondered if she should take the bottles while he wasn’t looking, but she didn’t have time to make up her mind. Draco jerked his head up from the table, giving her a withering glare.

“Granger,” he spat.

“Malfoy,” she replied evenly. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Draco’s eyes rolled shut for a moment before he shook his head and opened them again. “My head hurts,” he slurred. He looked ready to fall out of his chair.

“I see,” Hermione said. “Do you want some water?”

Draco growled at her, and she took a step back. “No. Firewhiskey. In the cubberd…”

Hermione frowned. The last thing he needed was more alcohol. “Malfoy, I don’t think that’s a good idea. Why don’t I –”

“Why don’t you do as I said?!” he roared, surprising Hermione by leaping to his feet, knocking his chair over in the process. “If you could feel this pain, you’d want Firewhiskey, too!” His surge of strength ended, and he collapsed into his chair. However, the chair was tipped over on the floor, and Draco went sprawling over it. Hermione might have laughed at him in another situation, but he was too angry and drunk to put up with being made fun of.

Hermione didn’t move. “Malfoy, let me –”

Suddenly, Draco was on his feet again, leaning against the table. He yanked his shot glass up and drank the alcohol that was left. He then threw the glass over his shoulder and let it shatter on the stone floor, turning up the Firewhiskey bottle and draining it dry. Hermione stood still, watching him carefully. He dropped the bottle and didn’t move for a moment, letting the alcohol work its way through his blood. Then he turned his head to look at her, noticing her stare.

“What are you looking at, Granger?” he said, his words running together. “Am I that bad?”

Hermione didn’t know how to respond. “Malfoy… you’re drunk. Just go to bed before you hurt yourself.”

“I’ve been drunk before. I know how to handle it. And I intend to get as drunk as possible before the night is over.”

Hermione sighed. “Then go right ahead. I’m not going to help.”

Draco sneered at her. “All you Mudbloods are alike. Dim-witted, selfish, worthless trash. I wish you were all dead. I wish _I_ was dead. I wish the whole world was dead!”

Hermione raised her chin. Drunk or not, the words still stung, and Hermione could feel anger bubbling up inside her. “Don’t talk to me like that, Malfoy,” she warned softly.

“Why not?” he demanded, taking a step closer to her. She backed up, inching toward the kitchen. “You’re mine, aren’t you? You’re _mine._ I _own_ you.”

Hermione set her jaw. “I’m not yours, Malfoy. It may say I am on a piece of paper, but I don’t belong to you. I could never belong to anyone as nasty and hateful as you. You’re a vile, repulsive, bigoted, selfish, arrogant… drunk animal!” Hermione knew she would later regret being so harsh, but she was angry and had had a whole day of mulling it over to fuel her passion. “The only reason I’m here is because your mother dragged me here. She brought me here! She bound me here! If I could leave, I would do it without a moment’s hesitation. You disgust me, Malfoy, and I wouldn’t mind if I never had to see your ugly face again!”

Hermione knew the face comment was what pushed him past the limit. She hadn’t been referring to his scars – it was just an insult that had come to mind – but she had no doubt that Draco was thinking about his scarred face. He let go of the table he had been leaning against and started slowly stalking toward her. “You think I’m ugly, do you? You think I look like a monster?”

“Malfoy, I –”

“Shut up!” he shouted. “Do you want to see, Granger? You want to see my scars? They’re even worse up close. You want to see?”

Hermione had backed into the wall behind her, but she wasn’t about to be trapped by Draco. She began sidestepping, moving toward the kitchen entrance.

“Come look, Granger,” he taunted. “Come look into the face of the beast.”

Hermione whirled around and started running through the kitchen, through the ballroom and the house-elf room to the hallway. With a wand, she was every bit Draco’s match, if not more so, but he was physically bigger and stronger than she, and she had no intention of finding out what he would do to her when his mind was clouded with alcohol.

She couldn’t hear his footsteps echoing behind her, and she chanced a look back as she ran into the entry hall. It was a mistake. No sooner had she turned her head did she slam right into Draco. _He must have come through the dining room door,_ she thought.

Draco scowled down at her, his breath washing over her face and nearly making her gag. He didn’t give her time to run, just used his alcohol-induced strength to grab her arms and slam her into the inside of the front door. He was far too close, and Hermione fought relentlessly to free herself from him. He didn’t move, his iron grip surely leaving bruises on her upper arms.

“Look at me, Granger,” Draco said quietly, dangerously. “Tell me what you see.”

So Hermione looked. The scars that crisscrossed his face were jagged and deep. They had probably taken years to fully turn white. Standing mere inches away from him, Hermione noticed for the first time that his right eye was clouded with a white scar as well; probably an effect from the scar that slashed through his eyebrow and across his cheek. The skin that wasn’t marred by the scar tissue was pale and clammy, and his eyes were shadowed with grief and pain. It was true; he really did resemble a monster. But Hermione could see desperation in his eyes, hurt and loneliness lining his face, and it was those emotions that made him very much human.

“I see a man who was cursed to wear the face of a monster,” she said, “but who still has the heart of a man. I don’t know what you did to make Voldemort mark you so, but I certainly hope it was worth it.”

Draco just stared at her, breathing hard as she did the same. His eyes danced over her face, and Hermione wondered if he was thinking about kissing her. He certainly looked wild enough to try it.

Hermione decided not to find out. She reached up and removed his hands from her arms, causing him to step back and give her some breathing room. She gave him one final look of questioning, then dashed up the staircase to her room. She locked the door behind her.


	5. An Open Door

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 5 has arrived! Hopefully this is as enjoyable a chapter for you all to read as it was for me to write and edit. Thank you all so much for your interest and support. Please read, review, and enjoy, friends!

“Come out of that room, Granger!”

“No!”

“Did you not hear me? I said _come out!”_

“I heard you the last three times, Malfoy! Say it as often as you like! I’m not coming out!”

“You can’t stay in there forever!”

“Oh, yes, I can!”

“Granger, get out of that room before I break down the door! I can do it, you know!”

“Go right ahead!”

_Sweet Salazar,_ she was infuriating. Draco had been at the door for nearly half an hour, and he had long given up on coaxing her out politely. He had just wanted to apologize for the night before and make sure he hadn’t hurt her – he could remember slamming her against the front door and not much else. But Hermione’s stubbornness and Draco’s temper had led them right into a shouting match through her locked bedroom door. And she _would not_ come out.

Draco doubted his shouting was helping he situation, but he was past caring. “I know where the key to your room is, Granger! All I have to do is go get it.”

There was silence on the other side of the door. “Don’t you come in this room, Malfoy,” Hermione warned.

He sighed exasperatedly. “Granger, all I want to do is talk to you!”

“So talk!”

“I meant face-to-face!”

“I can hear you just fine!”

“Granger, get out here unless you want to starve to death!”

“Sounds good to me!”

Draco nearly rammed his fist into the door, just to throw a scare into her. _That’s only going to add to the time it will take to get her to come out,_ he reasoned. He pulled his hand back but kept talking, trying to calm his voice somewhat. “Granger, please. There’s no reason to be like this!”

“I don’t know how drunk you were last night, but I’d say I have a perfectly good reason to be like this!” she retorted.

Draco sighed, leaning against the wall in frustration. “That’s what I want to talk to you about! Please, just let me say what I have to say!”

“Say it through the door!”

“Fine!” he shouted. He took a deep breath to steel himself. He hated apologizing. “I’m sorry if I scared you last night.” Hermione didn’t reply, so Draco kept going. “I know I was drunk and I’m sorry I got so riled up, but I’m not used to having someone in the house with me. I usually am just mad at myself or my scars are hurting, and that’s why I get drunk.” He grimaced, forcing his next words out. “I’ll try to be more careful.”

Hermione didn’t answer for a moment, and Draco could picture her leaning against the door, chewing on one lip as she thought, just like she always had at Hogwarts. Draco was about to call her again when she responded.

“That would definitely be a good thing,” she said simply.

He sighed in relief. “Yeah. Come out now?”

“I’ll come out when I’m ready.”

“And when will that be?” he growled, feeling annoyance bubble up again.

“Whenever I’m good and ready.”

“Granger, I’m warning you –”

“Aha!” she exclaimed, sounding triumphant. “I knew it. You were just waiting for that, weren’t you?”

“Waiting for what?!”

“To show your temper! You have a bad temper whether you’re drunk or not, Malfoy, and I don’t like having to put up with it.”

Draco raised his voice, not caring if he was proving her point. “What do you mean, a bad temper? I was drunk, Granger!”

“You weren’t drunk when you came into the kitchen yesterday and snapped at me! I was just trying to make sure you weren’t dying, and you practically bit my head off!”

“I wasn’t drunk, but I was in a lot of pain!” he told her. “My scars were killing me!”

“And how often does that happen?”

Draco had had enough of this banter. “I don’t have to tell you anything, Granger! Now, listen, you’re supposed to do what I say, right? Now get out here!”

“Why? So you can shake me? Call me a Mudblood again? I don’t think so!”

Draco was preparing a retort when Hermione’s words registered with him. “I called you a Mudblood?” he asked.

She took her time in responding. “Yes. A dim-witted, selfish, worthless Mudblood, if I recall. You said you wished all Mudbloods were dead.”

Draco groaned, leaning against the wall with his head in his hands. He had called her a Mudblood? He couldn’t even remember it. He had been drunk, but he suddenly wished he hadn’t been. Firewhiskey had eased the pain for a while, but at what cost? “Granger, I…”

His voice trailed off, and there was silence for a long time. He couldn’t think of anything to say, and he leaned against the wall in defeat. Finally, Draco heard the lock turn and saw the door swing open. Hermione stepped outside cautiously, and her eyes widened when she saw him. “What’s wrong with you?” she asked.

Draco looked up, noticing the circles under her eyes. She probably hadn’t slept all night. “Listen, Granger, I… There’s something you should know.” He took a deep breath. “I don’t think of you as a Mudblood anymore.”

She merely stared at him skeptically. “Oh, really? Then what am I?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugged. “A muggleborn witch? You’re certainly as capable or more so than any Pureblood I know. Besides that, you seem like a… a genuinely nice person. I’m sorry I ever called you that, especially last night.”

Hermione appeared to be in shock. She took a moment to gather her thoughts before replying. “Malfoy… that’s nice of you to say, but I really hope you don’t expect me to believe you.”

His eyes narrowed. “Why not?”

“Because one apology doesn’t erase a lifetime of bad deeds. You may very well be sorry, but don’t expect me to forgive everything at the drop of a hat.”

“Granger,” he ground out, “I’m not apologizing for my whole life. Just last night.”

She frowned. “I know what you meant. I’m just saying, don’t give me all that drivel about me being a nice person and a talented witch and all that. I know you don’t think of me as an equal, so don’t try to fool me.”

“Who says I don’t think of you as an equal?” he demanded.

“You did,” she replied simply. “Last night.”

Draco sighed, frustrated again. “Look, all I wanted to do was apologize and make sure I didn’t do any lasting damage to you.”

“You’re about twenty years late to not do damage to –”

“Let me finish!” he roared. “Why can’t you just accept the apology and be done with it? Why all these barriers to go through?”

“Why all these barriers?” she repeated incredulously. “Let me tell you something, Draco Malfoy. You may be the one with the clawed-up face and the cursed house, but I’ve seen and lived through just as much heartache as you have!” Draco started to scoff, but Hermione broke in. “I’ve seen horrible things! I’ve watched as my best friends were publicly murdered by your beloved Death Eaters. I saw my teachers and classmates, friends and family, be made examples of. I’ve helped the survivors struggle through their lives while they tried to come to terms with the new world. I’ve led rescue missions and waited at home for the others to come back. A few years ago, I even thought I had found love again. I didn’t think I could ever love anyone after Ron, but then this young fellow from Wales came and helped us fight the Death Eaters. I thought he and I might be able to have something special, but then he committed suicide to keep from being caught on a mission. I got there too late. Too late to save him from _your_ people.” Hermione’s eyes sent off sparks. “Don’t you dare say I haven’t lost as much as you have. You’ve lost your freedom, your place in society, even your face, but I’ve lost everything else. Besides, I didn’t choose this life; you chose it.”

Draco couldn’t think of a single word to say in response. Hermione was exactly right. If only she could know…

“I’m sorry,” he finally croaked out. “I didn’t mean to belittle your suffering.”

But his words did nothing to calm her down. Hermione had had a whole night of being angry to fuel her rage. “Do you know who killed all those people I mentioned? Do you know who made that young man commit suicide? Do you know who does all these horrific things to my loved ones? It’s _your_ people, Malfoy. It’s your Death Eaters. They’re the ones who make getting up in the morning a pain. You may carry your scars on your face, but I carry mine in my heart. Just because you can’t see them doesn’t mean they aren’t there. I don’t care if you think I’m a Mudblood or not! You’ve chosen to surround yourself with my very worst enemies, and for that I can _never_ forgive you. You’re just like your father.”

That did it. That last sentence pushed Draco over the limit and had him stepping toward her menacingly. Hermione backed up, reaching for her bedroom door, but Draco grabbed the handle and pulled it shut, pinning her against the wall with an arm on either side of her head. He tried not to pay attention to the terrified yet determined look in her eyes.

“Don’t you dare compare me to my father,” he said quietly. He didn’t even feel like shouting; she was getting the message. “I am not anything like him, and I never will be.”

Hermione scoffed. “You’re a pathetic Death Eater who couldn’t even please Voldemort, no matter how many people you tortured and murdered. You’re a bigot, selfish and cowardly. I don’t know what you’re hiding from yourself, but I think you and your father have a lot in common.”

Draco pounded his fist against the wall, making Hermione jump. He moved even closer, so close he could count her thick lashes, close enough to notice for the first time that her dark brown eyes held a tiny ring of golden brown around the pupils. He was trying to intimidate her, to move far enough into her personal space to make her afraid, but she didn’t look afraid, and Draco was suddenly less angry and more fascinated. Had he ever really looked into her eyes before? Of course, he had last night, but he had been drunk and didn’t remember seeing the three tiny lines creased into the skin beside her right eye, nor the near-invisible scar that crossed the bridge of her nose. Draco wondered if Hermione was noticing the same details in his own gray eyes.

Apparently not. Hermione always looked for an opportunity to take, and she took the one that had been offered. While Draco was staring enraptured into her eyes, she kicked him hard in the shin and threw her left shoulder into his chest, driving him back into the center of the hallway. She whirled around to open her bedroom door for safety, but Draco lunged forward and caught her wrist, pulling her back to himself. He kept a safe distance between them – _no need to get dazed again, Draco_ – but he took both her wrists in one hand and said, “You don’t know me like you think you do, Granger. I don’t care what you’ve believed your whole life, but just trust me; I’m not as much like my father as you might think.”

“Trust you,” she spat. Even when she had no way of defending herself, she still wouldn’t give up. “I wouldn’t trust you any more than I would a Dementor. You expect me to feel sorry for you just because you’re cursed, but you deserve it. Your kind is despised enough by the Order; I can’t imagine how unthinkable a deed you must have committed to make Voldemort hate you.”

“Listen here, you persnickety little –”

A shout from downstairs shocked them both into silence. “Oi, Malfoy!” Draco and Hermione both froze.

“Come on, where are you, mate?” came a different voice.

Draco let out a muttered curse as Hermione’s eyes widened in fear. She started to whisper something to him, but Draco clapped a hand over her mouth. “It’s Zabini and Nott,” he whispered to her. “We can’t let them see you.” He looked around quickly and pulled her bedroom door open, motioning for her to go inside. “Hide. I’ll try to get rid of them.”

Hermione ducked into the room, and Draco turned to face the staircase. Blaise and Theodore rarely came by. Why now, of all times?

Theodore’s head popped up above the landing. “Hey, Blaise, I found him!” He strolled up the stairs casually, just as he did everything. Draco couldn’t remember the last time he had seen Theodore Nott worried about anything. “Who were you talking to, Malfoy?” he asked.

Draco froze. “I… I wasn’t talking to anyone.”

“That’s a likely story,” Blaise commented, following Theodore to the upstairs hallway. Blaise’s demeanor was, as always, much more dignified than Theodore’s, but Draco knew that Blaise’s calmness could easily turn into something dangerous. “We could hear you shouting from outside, Malfoy. We even listened once we got in here.”

“Why, you –” Draco started.

“It was a woman’s voice,” Blaise interrupted. “And I know for a fact you’d be too scared to talk to your mother that way.”

“And no Pureblood witch even knows how to get in,” Theodore added.

Blaise grinned at Draco smugly. “So who’s the girl?”

Draco sneered. “I talk to myself and do voice impressions at the same time.”

“Sure,” Blaise said patronizingly. “And I’m the master of the Elder Wand.”

Theodore snorted a laugh. “Come on, mate. We won’t tell anyone. How’d you get a girl in here?”

“I –”

Draco stopped short as he noticed Blaise poking Hermione’s bedroom door. He wanted to tell him to stop, but he knew that would only make both Blaise and Theodore even more curious. They would know Hermione on sight, and Draco couldn’t risk that.

“Wait!” he said, trying to think of an excuse. Blaise stopped and looked at him with interest. “Uh… I, uh… I left my… um…that is…”

Blaise and Theodore shared a look, and both of them started for the door.

“No!” Draco threw himself in front of the door. “You’re not allowed in there.”

“Why not?” Theodore asked. “I stayed in there years ago.”

“I know, but, um… it’s a mess,” Draco said weakly.

Theodore rolled his eyes, flicked his wand, and the door flew open. Draco jumped in ahead of them. Maybe he couldn’t stop them from going inside, but he could at least try to protect Hermione when they found her.

“So where is she?” Blaise asked, glancing around the room.

“There’s nobody in here except two gits who can’t mind their own business.”

“I’ll agree to that,” Theodore said, stepping away from Draco and Blaise. He went to his knees and looked under the bed; finding nothing, he moved to the chest of drawers and started poking around it.

Blaise didn’t join in the search, but he seemed interested. Draco, on the other hand, was mystified. Where could Hermione have gone? There was only one window, and the vines around it were immovable. The room had no closet, no vents, no other doors that Hermione could have gotten out of. He just hoped wherever she was, Blaise and Theodore wouldn’t find her.

Theodore finally straightened and started to walk toward Draco, casting another glance around the room for good measure. “Well, Blaise, I guess ol’ Malfoy’s telling the truth.”

Blaise gave them both a skeptical look and stepped into the center of the room himself. Draco held his breath as Blaise’s dark eyes alighted on the bedroom door. Draco chanced a look over to make sure Hermione wasn’t there, but he moved closer to it anyway. Blaise sauntered over and smirked at Draco before giving the wide-open door a sharp kick. Instead of hitting the wall, the door bounced off something behind it, and Theodore laughed as he realized what Blaise already had.

_Oh, Merlin, please, no,_ Draco thought. It was no use to jump forward. Blaise was already nudging the door shut, revealing a nervous-looking Hermione pressed into the corner behind the door. Draco gave her a sheepish look.

“Oi, would you look at that, Blaise!” Theodore exclaimed. “What a dish! Malfoy, you really lucked out this time!”

Blaise didn’t say anything, just stared at Hermione. Theodore whistled loudly, and Hermione glared at him.

Draco frowned at Blaise and Theodore. “All right, you’ve had your fun. You found her. Come on, let’s go.”

“Is this my old girl, Malfoy?” Theodore asked, ignoring Draco’s comment. Draco shook his head no. “Nah, I didn’t think so. Sure looks like her though.”

“Who is she, Draco?” Blaise asked distractedly, speaking for the first time since he had seen Hermione.

Draco tried to recall the name of the girl whose place Hermione had taken. “Um… Amelia.”

“Amelia what?” Blaise pressed.

“Thornberry,” Draco said.

“It’s Finberry,” Hermione snapped from her corner.

“Aha!” Blaise shouted. Draco jumped, fearing the worst at Blaise’s triumphant expression. “I knew it! That’s Hermione Granger!”

Theodore gawked at Hermione. “No… no way! Draco, is it really her?”

Draco merely glared at them.

“Hermione Granger,” Blaise drawled, starting to walk closer to her. Draco defensively moved to block his path, but Blaise kept staring at Hermione. “You’ve been assumed dead for years. How are you even alive, much less here in Malfoy’s cursed house?”

“Yeah,” Theodore added. “How did you get her in here, Malfoy?”

Draco gritted his teeth. “I didn’t get her in here. My mother bought her at a slave market and bound her to me.”

Blaise laughed out loud, and Theodore shook his head in amazement. “Does your mother know who she is?”

“No,” Draco replied. “She thinks she’s Amelia Finberry, a girl who’s been on the run for years. Granger somehow got switched with her and my mother thought she could be company for me. I’m assuming I can count on you two to keep this a secret?”

“Yeah, sure,” Theodore agreed, giving Hermione a suggestive smile.

“Draco,” Blaise said seriously, “you do know that if Voldemort finds out she’s here, it’s not going to end well, right?”

“Yeah, what’s he going to do, Zabini?” Draco hissed. “I’m already trapped in my own home without magic. If he killed me, he’d be liberating me.”

Blaise nodded his head to concede, and Theodore added, “Besides, Malfoy’s probably having the best time of his life with a bird like this as his slave. Malfoy, how much is it to rent her?”

“You can’t rent her,” Draco said flatly.

Blaise still appeared to be sizing up the situation. “Draco, have you thought about turning her in to Voldemort? I mean, you never know; that could be your ticket to get out of this curse.”

“No,” Draco said, then amended his statement. “I mean, of course I’ve thought about it. But I just can’t do it. Granger’s been through as much or more than any of us, and she’s survived this far. Seems a shame to just offer her up as a sacrifice after all she’s lived through.”

Blaise and Theodore stared at Draco incredulously. “Malfoy, you’re not actually…” Blaise said. “You haven’t… fallen for her?”

“Merlin, no!” Draco exclaimed, trying to push the thoughts of the moment when he had gotten lost in her eyes in the hallway out of his mind. “I just feel sorry for her, that’s all.”

“Well, this beats all I’ve ever seen,” Blaise admitted.

“If you don’t want her, I’ll take her,” Theodore said, his smile widening as Hermione scowled at him.

“Aw, Theo, don’t rob Draco of the only good time he’s had in years,” Blaise said teasingly. “I’d say Granger’s giving Draco a run for his money on stubbornness. And that’s always fun to tame. After all, it’s the lionesses that fight the wildest and fall the hardest,” he added with a wink.

Draco rolled his eyes. “You two are morons. Now you’ve got to swear, not a word to anyone. Not even your families or closest friends. No one can be trusted.”

“Yeah, yeah, we won’t tell anyone, Malfoy,” Theodore said. “Though I’d be a whole lot more willing to agree to this if I knew I’d get a turn with her.”

“She’s mine, Theodore. Don’t come near her.”

Blaise added his promise as well, and Draco escorted his friends out of the room.

“Nice to see you again, Granger!” Theodore called out. “Hope to see you again soon… with less people around!”

“I’d rather be kissed by a Dementor!” Hermione shouted, slamming the door of all three of their faces.

“Well,” Blaise said after a moment. “Granger hasn’t changed much.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Two hours later, Draco was standing at Hermione’s door again, much calmer since Blaise and Theodore had left the house. He cleared his throat. “Granger?” he called. “If you wouldn’t mind coming out here a second, I’d like to talk to you.”

Silence. Then the door opened and Hermione appeared, looking slightly irritated. “Good. I want to talk to you, too.”

Draco raised his eyebrows. “All right. I just wanted to apologize for Blaise and Theodore. I didn’t know they were coming, or I wouldn’t have let them see you.”

“Well, all I can say is they better keep their promise,” Hermione huffed. “Because if they don’t, you and I both are going to be worse than dead.”

“They will,” Draco assured her, rolling his eyes upwards. “They’re not all bad, you know. Just because they’re Slytherins doesn’t automatically make them Death Eaters.”

“Zabini and Nott aren’t Death Eaters?” she asked, sounding surprised.

“No. Nott’s father is, but Blaise works in the Ministry treasury and Theodore has a job with the _Daily Prophet.”_

“Oh.” Hermione cast her gaze down.

Draco tried to ignore her downcast look. “Anyway, I just wanted to apologize for the things they said. I’ll try to talk to them and keep them away from you in general. Though, that may be difficult with Theodore. He’s kind of known for being persistent with women.”

Hermione snorted. “He’ll get over it. And this brings me to what I wanted to talk to you about.” Draco swallowed hard at the fierce gleam in Hermione’s eye. “I just want you to know that I don’t buy this whole being nice to me campaign. I don’t care what you said earlier; I just want you to know that I’m not falling for it.”

Draco gave her a puzzled look. “Granger, what are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about this web you’re spinning! I wasn’t nicknamed the Brightest Witch of the Age for nothing. I can read between the lines. You’re going overboard to show me you’ve changed. You’re pretending to treat me like an equal because you want something. You almost had me going for a second in the hallway earlier!” Her eyes flashed dangerously, and Draco knew she was dead serious. “I don’t know what it is you’re after, but I’m not going to give it to you without a ferocious fight.”

“Granger,” Draco said, “anything I’ve done towards you is real. You may not think I’m capable of changing my ways, but I hope you know that you’re being very childish and… unfair. You used to talk about equality for the house-elves and the muggles and the muggleborns, but when it comes to forgiving a Pureblood, you just won’t have any of it.”

“I have no issue with forgiving a Pureblood,” Hermione countered. “It’s just Death Eaters whom I have trouble with.”

“I’m not a Death Eater!”

“Well, you used to be!” she said defiantly. “And an inch is as good as a mile when you’re racing for your life.”

Draco shook his head. “Fine. You’re right. I used to be a Death Eater. But there’s a very good reason why I’m not anymore and why I have this curse on me.”

“And what is that?” Hermione demanded.

“I’m not going to tell you anything!” Draco shouted. “It’s not like you’d listen even if I screamed it in your ear. You’re just stubborn.” He lowered his voice. “Well, I don’t care what you believe. I know the truth. Every bit of kindness I’ve shown for you is real.” He didn’t know why he did it, but he added, “Even the hallway.”

Hermione looked affronted, then confused, then horrified. She took a few moments to compose herself before she spoke. “Maybe,” she said in a low voice, “maybe we should just keep our distance from each other.” Before Draco could ask her what she meant, she continued, “Because I have no intention of developing any sort of feelings for you other than indifference. My people will be coming for me soon enough, and until that time, I don’t think we should have any contact with each other besides a master and servant relationship. Tell me what duties you expect from me, and I’ll keep my distance from you while I complete them.”

Draco didn’t know what to say. He really didn’t know what he had expected her to say, but she had still managed to surprise him. After a moment, he said, “That’s fine, Granger. That’s just fine.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“So how long do you think it’ll be before old Malfoy decides he’s in love with Granger?” Theodore asked. He and Blaise had apparated to the Three Broomsticks from Draco’s house and were currently having lunch to discuss what they had just seen.

Blaise shrugged. “Who knows? Isolation can do mad things to a man.”

“Yeah, especially when he’s got someone who looks like Granger living in his house with him. Alone. And without her wand to hex him with.”

“True,” Blaise agreed, taking a bite of his sandwich. “I don’t think it’s Draco who’ll have the problem admitting his feelings. Like you said, he’s been without female company for years, and he’s always been a little more emotional than most of us. Granger will be the real challenge. She’s as stubborn as a hippogriff, and I’m sure she’s heard all about Draco’s reputation as a Death Eater.”

“Do you think she knows about what Draco did that got him cursed?” Theodore asked.

“Nah. She was acting pretty hostile toward him if their shouting match is anything to go by. I’d say she’d feel a little different if she knew.”

“Do you think we should tell her?”

Blaise thought for a moment. “No. He must have some reason for not telling her yet. He’ll tell her when he’s ready.”

“Mmhmm,” Theodore replied. “So if Granger still sees him as an enemy, do you think she’ll ever come around to liking Draco back?”

Blaise shrugged again. “I don’t know. She’s pretty persistent, but then so is Draco. I’d say if he falls in love with her, he’ll do anything he can to prove his love to her. And sharing their space certainly will be on his side.”

“Do you think he’s forced her to sleep with him yet?”

“Nah, probably not. Draco’s not the type for rape, especially with someone like Granger. She’d probably claw his eyes out if he tried anything.”

Theodore laughed. “So the question isn’t _if_ they’ll fall in love, but _when.”_

“Yeah, I guess,” Blaise said.

Theodore grinned. “How about a bet, Zabini?”

“A bet?” Blaise asked skeptically.

“Yeah!” Theodore rubbed his hands together deviously, which in Blaise’s experience always meant trouble. “I’ll bet you thirty galleons that Granger will take at least a year to admit her feelings. Maybe even longer.”

Blaise’s eyes narrowed. “A year? No way.” His eyes glimmered. “They’re trapped in a house alone together for an indefinite amount of time. I say Granger will not only fall in love with Draco, but she’ll admit it and give in to him by…” Blaise thought for a moment. “By Christmas.”

Theodore nearly spat out his drink. “Christmas? Are you daft? That’s barely four months! Give the girl some credit, Blaise.”

“Nope,” Blaise said resolutely. “I say by Christmas.”

“Forty galleons says she won’t.”

Blaise was quiet. “Fifty,” he finally said. “If Granger admits that she’s in love with Draco by Christmas, you give me fifty galleons. If they’re still at odds by then, I give you fifty.”

Theodore gave a wolf’s smile. “Done.”

They both were quiet for a few moments as they ate, but Theodore finally asked, “In the meantime, do you think Granger would fancy a night with me?”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Hermione sat in the kitchen later that evening, quietly eating the beans and rice she had fixed for herself. She had offered to make some for Draco, but he denied her offer, choosing his Firewhiskey bottle over her cooking. Hermione couldn’t help but wonder how often he ate, if ever. He was painfully thin, and his gaunt features only served to exaggerate the scars on his face.

Hermione toyed with her fork as she mulled over the day’s events. She and Draco had had a violent disagreement that morning, but still, when he stared into her eyes with such intensity and an almost childlike curiosity, Hermione had felt the spark, too. She had taken the opportunity to get out of his hold, but still… she couldn’t help but wonder what would have happened next had she not gotten free.

Could she trust him? He certainly didn’t seem to want to hurt her. When they fought, his words – at least when he was sober – were at least somewhat civil. He had even apologized for calling her a Mudblood! Despite her claims, Hermione couldn’t detect any insincerity in his words, no matter how hard she tried. She didn’t know why he was attempting at a truce between them, unless he had just been alone for so long that he wanted a friend desperately. Desperately enough to want her as his friend.

Hermione could understand loneliness well enough. She had lived with it most of her life.

She narrowed her eyes resolutely as she took her last bite of her dinner. She wouldn’t fall for his tricks or allow herself to be seduced by him, but if all he wanted was a friend, she supposed she could be that for him. At least until the Order came for her.

Hermione picked up her dishes and washed them, taking as much time as she could. Draco was in the sitting room, and she wasn’t looking forward to walking past him to get to the staircase. After spending as much time as she could polishing the dishes, Hermione turned around, took a deep breath, and marched out of the kitchen, into the dining room, and through the entry hall.

When she reached the sitting room, she was surprised not to see Draco anywhere inside. However, as she passed the center of the room, she noticed him across from her, his head resting on one arm as he slumped into the couch. He was passed out cold, Hermione realized.

She took a few cautious steps toward him, making sure he wasn’t awake, and picked up the Firewhiskey bottle on the table in front of him. It was still more than half full. Hermione smiled to herself. So he was keeping his word about being careful after all.

Hermione started for the staircase, but just before she reached the first step, she turned, walked back to the couch, and pulled a wool blanket off the top of the couch. The night was chilly, and Hermione didn’t know how long it might be before Draco woke up. She spread the blanket over him, pausing just a moment to look at the hand that was visible from under the blanket. There were fewer scars on his hands than his face, but they were still nightmarish. _He was lucky not to lose his hands,_ Hermione thought.

Not for the first time, Hermione found herself wondering what it was that Draco had done to warrant such a terrible punishment. He had been Voldemort’s right hand for nearly two years, and he had more than proven his loyalty to the dark lord on many occasions. To not have been killed immediately, to have been trapped in his home for a lifetime of torture, Draco Malfoy must have committed some unspeakable act.

Satisfied that she had done her job as a compassionate human being – and friend, she reminded herself – Hermione returned to the staircase and retreated to her room. She dreamed in shades of silver that night. White and silver.


	6. Just a Little Change

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again, friends! Welcome to chapter 6 of Bittersweet and Strange. I hope you enjoy this chapter; it sets up some concepts that will be used later in the story and has a dose of Dramione almost-fluff as well :) As always, read, review, and enjoy!!

Hermione’s world was a much quieter place since she had told Draco to keep away from her. She honestly hadn’t been sure if he would keep his word and stay away, but he did. Several days had passed since their last big argument, and Hermione had hardly seen Draco at all since then.

Instead, every morning there was a new note posted to the outside of her bedroom door. On the paper was a short list of duties which Hermione was expected to fulfill by the end of the day. She fixed his meals and left them on the table, choosing to eat in her room rather than chance facing him. She had scrubbed all the floors of the second story and some of the third. She had even managed to find the tower, which seemed to hold little else than a few bookshelves. Hermione had made a mental note to return when she had time and see what books were up there.

The work was arduous, but Hermione didn’t mind it. She was glad to have something to do, a way to keep busy. She could imagine that the manor would be very beautiful if it had not been laid to such waste in the years following Draco’s curse.

Besides, it gave her time to think of ways to escape. The only problem was, she hadn’t come up with a single idea.

The only ways out of the castle were entirely blocked with heavy thorn vines, and even if Hermione managed to pry them away, she still was bound to Draco. The thought made her blood boil, but she couldn’t ignore the facts. Draco was bound to the house, and Hermione was bound to him, which meant she couldn’t leave the mansion. Just thinking about it was enough to drive her mad.

She was sure the Order would come for her eventually; they were probably looking for her already. It could take weeks, even months, for them to track her down, obscured as her location was. Without her magic, she had no way of sending them a message. And even if they found her, how could they get her out? They couldn’t enter, and Hermione couldn’t leave. It seemed like a hopeless situation.

Still, Hermione was making the best of it. The third floor loo was sparkling.

Hermione picked up her bucket of water and started hauling it and her mop to the next room. She blew her bangs out of her eyes and pulled open the next door to her right. It, too, was empty except for a few chairs and a bureau. _It would seem Malfoy didn’t inherit any of his mother’s decorating abilities,_ Hermione thought to herself.

She set the bucket down heavily and groaned, stretching her back in an attempt to alleviate the stiffness. She had been mopping for four hours now; it was probably close to noon. Hermione leaned her broom against the wall and wiped her hands on her pants, heading for the staircase.

Hermione made a sandwich for Draco and set it on the counter with a glass of water. She started out the door with her own plate but suddenly stopped and turned back. She rummaged through the cupboard for a moment before pulling out a tiny glass vial with green liquid inside. The vial was still cracked from when Draco threw it against the wall. Hermione’s first reflex was to pull out her wand and charm the crack away, but she shook her head at her forgetfulness. Old habits died hard.

She set the little bottle next to Draco’s sandwich. It had been chilly in the house that morning, and Hermione guessed that his scars had probably been hurting him.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Hermione sat cross-legged in the tower, her back against the wall as she finished her sandwich and flipped through a spell book she had found in one of the bookcases. It was a lot like the other three she had looked through; she already knew most of the spells, and the ones she didn’t know couldn’t help her without a wand. So far, she hadn’t come across a thing that would help her with her current situation. Without magic, the spells wouldn’t do her any good, but if she could find a few reverse spells, it could make all the difference when the Order finally found her.

Hermione sighed and snapped the book shut. Not for the first time, she wished desperately that she hadn’t gone to look for Dennis by herself. It had been a foolish mistake, and one that had cost her dearly. What if the Order couldn’t find her? What if they looked for her and gave her up for dead? Surely they wouldn’t do that.

However, a part of her almost hoped they wouldn’t come after her. Despite her fiercest hopes, the Order could be put into great danger if they came on too strong, and Hermione hoped they would put the safety of the group before her personal safety.

Then Hermione had a terrible thought. What if someone could use Legilimency against her to figure out the Order’s whereabouts? She knew Occlumency well enough, but without her wand, she was considerably weaker. Draco probably couldn’t probe her mind, but Hermione had no trust that Blaise or Theodore – or even Narcissa – wouldn’t try it. Hermione squeezed her eyes shut. She would rather be dead than betray her friends, even unknowingly.

Hermione spent the rest of the afternoon attempting to forget her worries by throwing herself into her work. The two spare bedrooms were done in a couple of hours, and by dinnertime, Hermione had finished scrubbing the floor of the last room on the third story.

Satisfied with her work, Hermione ran up the stairs to the tower, grabbed the books she had been reading, and stashed them under her bed on the second floor. Even if she couldn’t use any of the spells to escape, she still might find something useful.

Returning to the kitchen to start dinner, Hermione cast a glance past Draco’s open bedroom door as she passed it. It was empty. Hermione wondered where he had been all day.

A bit of weak twilight streamed through the vines over the kitchen’s single window. It cast odd patterns on the gray stone floor as Hermione walked across them, the dust in the air kicking up at her movements. The kitchen would be her next job, she decided, as long as Draco didn’t give her some other mammoth task.

Try as she might, Hermione couldn’t keep her thoughts from wandering to Draco as she fixed their dinner. Her mind kept going back to their big fight in the entry hall, and that strange look he had given her in the hallway. What did it all mean? Surely he wasn’t attracted to her. No matter what he insisted, Draco Malfoy had always thought of her as the scum of the earth. His motives may not make any sense, but Hermione was positive that he was trying to use her for something.

Still, if he wanted her, why not just take her? She would be practically defenseless against him if he really decided to chase her. It was her worst nightmare, and she was glad he wasn’t making any advances toward her, but she couldn’t help but wonder what his reasoning was. Hermione shook her head. It was all a big mystery.

Hermione had just finished toasting some bread in the oven when she heard the front door swing open and a feminine voice call out, “Draco!”

It sounded like Narcissa. The voice called again, followed by a few echoing steps in the entry hall. Hermione stayed quiet. She hoped Narcissa wouldn’t notice her presence. The last thing she wanted was to deal with both Malfoys at once.

Narcissa shouted for her son once more before Hermione heard a door slam upstairs and quick footfalls coming down the staircase. “Hello, Mum,” Hermione heard Draco say.

“Hello, dear,” Narcissa replied. “My, this place is clean. You’ve been putting her to work, haven’t you?”

“Um, yeah, I guess so,” Draco replied, sounding nervous.

Hermione set a piece of bread on each of the plates, then grabbed hers and started for the opposite doorway. If she could sneak around through the three empty rooms, she could probably go unnoticed.

No such luck. Narcissa’s footsteps sounded closer as she rang out, “And what is that wonderful smell? It almost smells like chicken. I do hope you’ve been eating, Draco,” she said as she rounded the corner. Narcissa stopped, eyebrows high, when she saw Hermione, half-in and half-out of the kitchen. “Oh, well, there she is.”

Draco’s head appeared around the corner. He swallowed as he followed his mother through the dining room and into the kitchen. “Oh, uh, I guess so.”

Hermione sighed and stepped back into the kitchen. Narcissa didn’t say anything at first, just looking at Hermione curiously and then at the plate of food in her hand. She allowed herself a slight smile. “Well, Amelia Finberry, it’s good to see that you’re making my son eat. He’s thinner than a rail these days. I hope he’s doing better now.”

“Mum,” Draco warned.

“Yes, ma’am,” Hermione replied curtly.

Narcissa nodded approvingly and turned back to Draco. “Well, how are you feeling, Draco? It was a bit colder today than usual. I hope you didn’t feel too poorly.”

“No, I took the painkiller and felt all right,” Draco answered, avoiding Hermione’s eyes.

Narcissa noticed. “Well, good. I’m glad.” She glanced back at Hermione. “How is the girl working out for you?”

“She’s fine.”

“Do you get along?”

“Well enough.”

Narcissa frowned. “Well enough? Now, Draco, that’s not an answer.”

“What answer would you prefer?” Draco asked.

“Well, does she do what you ask her to do? Does she work hard? Does she talk back? I’m sure it’s hard to discipline a slave without magic, but I’m sure you know how to put her in her place.”

“Mum!” Draco broke in. “Everything is fine. She has her duties, I have my work. We stay busy, we avoid each other’s paths, and it all works out nicely.” Draco chanced a look at Hermione, who simply stared at him. She hoped her hands weren’t shaking.

Narcissa gave Draco a suspicious eye, then turned to Hermione. “And what are your thoughts? Are you finding this arrangement suitable?”

Hermione tried to keep her voice steady. “Whether I am or not, I’m making the best of the situation. I’m keeping busy.”

“I see,” Narcissa replied after a short pause. She glanced at Draco then asked Hermione, “Has he been drinking at all?”

Draco spluttered, and Hermione answered, “Only a little, ma’am.”

Narcissa pursed her lips and eyed the plate of food on the counter. “Well,” she said. “I don’t want to interrupt your dinner, Draco. I’ll be going. Is there anything you need?”

Draco shook his head. “No, Mum. I’m fine. Are you sure you can’t stay?”

Narcissa gave him a fond smile, but Hermione spoke before she could. “I can make more food if you want to stay,” Hermione offered. “You can have mine. I’ll eat later.”

Draco agreed. “Yes, Mum. I’m not very hungry if you want mine.”

“Oh, dear, no,” Narcissa replied, looking a bit flustered but pleased. “I only came to see you, Draco. I don’t want –”

“You’re not barging in on anything,” Draco replied firmly. “Ah… Finberry, give her my plate.”

Narcissa shook her head firmly as Hermione handed her Draco’s plate. “No, Draco, you need to eat. I’ll have dinner when I get home.”

“I insist, Mum,” Draco said, guiding her to sit at the kitchen table. “I have some things I want to talk to you about.”

Narcissa was silent for a moment, looking uncomfortable as she glanced between Draco and Hermione. At last she sighed. “All right, Draco. Thank you. And thank you,” she added, nodding to Hermione.

Hermione nodded back and set her own plate in front of Draco as he sat at the table. She was already out the door and on the staircase before he could protest.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Fleur Weasley and Michael Corner Apparated into the meeting room of the Fortress at the same time, followed seconds later by Neville, Luna, and a disheveled-looking Susan Bones. George leaped to his feet and shouted for the rest of the Order. Seamus and Parvati jerked their heads up from the table, where they had fallen asleep. Romilda and Dean, followed closely by Padma, Millicent, Lee, and Nigel, ran in moments later.

“Well?” George demanded, holding out his hand to steady Neville. The entire room seemed to be holding its breath. Neville shook his head defeatedly. “Not a sign.”

A collective groan rose up through the Order, and Parvati dropped into a nearby chair, one hand over her mouth. Michael helped Susan into a seat and began examining a large cut on her cheek.

“What happened?” Lee asked.

Neville sat down as well, running a hand through his hair. “We searched everywhere. We took turns going into the slave pavilions, and we went through all the stores, all the alleyways. Luna even asked for a transcript of the slave lists, but the bloke wouldn’t show her. Michael and Fleur went down to the old Hogwarts ruins, but they didn’t find anything either.”

“What happened to Susan?” Romilda queried.

Neville shook his head. “A stupid move on our part. I asked one of the women at a vegetable stand if she had seen any unfamiliar witches around, and while I was over there, someone recognized Susan and started calling out to her. Naturally, Susan ran, and I had to catch up with her. That got a lot of attention, and then I couldn’t find Luna so we could Apparate out… It was a big mess. Susan got caught by one of the men, and I had to wrestle him off of her. Luna found us, and we Apparated to Hogwarts, the back here.”

Dean whistled softly. “You’re lucky you got out of there.”

“I know.”

“What does this mean, Neville?” Millicent asked. “For all of us?”

Neville sighed again. “It means Luna, Susan, and I can’t go on any more missions – at least not for a while. We can’t risk it. I think Michael and Fleur will be all right, but we’re going to have to use Polyjuice Potions every time we go out. I know it’s precious, but we can’t chance being recognized. If one is caught, it could mean we all lose everything.”

“Any sign of Dennis?” Nigel asked. He looked and sounded very discouraged.

Luna gave him a small smile. “We’ve been on the lookout for him, Nigel. I’m sure we’ll find something soon.”

George looked at Neville seriously. “What about Hermione, Neville? We can’t just give up on her.”

“Nobody said anything about giving up, George,” Neville said evenly. “We just need different tactics is all.”

“I told you, I’ll go,” George replied. “I’ll go search by myself if it’s safer that way.”

“George,” Fleur said gently, “eet ees too dangerous. You are perhaps at more reesk than any of us.”

“Fleur’s right,” Neville agreed. “We can’t lose you, George. And everyone in the Ministry knows you’re still alive.”

George grimaced. “I know. I just wish I could do something to help.”

“You are helping, George,” Padma piped up. “You help run things here when Neville’s gone.”

George shook his head but didn’t say anything. Neville leaned back in his chair and glanced around the table. “Where’s everybody else?”

Seamus looked up. “Well, Penelope and Oliver are manning the watchtowers, and Cho is trying to get some sleep.”

Neville nodded. “We could all use some of that.”

“Sleep isn’t going to help Hermione,” George countered.

Neville laid his head on his forearms and didn’t reply. The meeting room was in total silence for a while. Until they heard the shout.

Cho slid into the room, her face a mask of excitement. “Neville! Everyone! I just got an owl from Katie Bell! She’s found Dennis!”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Hermione breathed a silent sigh of relief when she heard Narcissa and Draco saying goodbye and then the magical sealing of the front door. It wasn’t so much a genuine dislike for the woman; it was more of a built-in mistrust for anyone who had ever been associated with Voldemort. Even though Narcissa was unaware of her identity, Hermione couldn’t help but feel unsafe around her, no matter what Draco said.

She was starving, but she decided to wait a few more minutes before going down to the kitchen. She didn’t know what had possessed her to give her plate to Draco – it certainly wasn’t a desire to show off in front of Narcissa – but she suspected that Draco and Narcissa usually had dinner together. Hermione pitied the older woman; it was the only time she ever got to see her son, and Hermione didn’t want to rob her of that.

After fifteen minutes, Hermione decided that Draco was probably gone and that it was safe to go down to the kitchen. She padded down the hall quietly, noting that Draco’s bedroom door was shut. That was a good sign.

However, her deductions were proved wrong when she stepped into the kitchen and found Draco… washing the dishes?

Draco looked as surprised as Hermione felt when he turned around and saw her. “Oh, Granger. Sorry, I, uh…” He didn’t seem to know what to say. “I was just… doing the dishes.”

Hermione blinked. “Really?”

“Yeah.” He glanced around nervously, trying not to meet her eyes. His gaze landed on the plate sitting on the table. “Oh! Here. I made you some dinner. I’m not much of a cook, but, uh…”

Hermione took the offered plate and looked at him incredulously. “You made this?”

“Yeah. I mean, I thought it was the least I could do. You gave me your plate.”

Hermione shrugged. “It’s what anyone would do.”

“Still, you didn’t have to do that.” He was quiet for a moment. “You didn’t have to be so cordial to my mother, either. It was very… polite of you.”

“It was nothing,” Hermione said, eyeing him suspiciously.

“It was something,” he insisted. “It’s the one time we get to see each other. I was glad to get to talk to her. Thanks for that.”

Hermione shrugged again. “Sure.”

Neither of them spoke, but Draco finally said, “And thanks for setting my medicine out.”

“I noticed it was gone when I was making dinner,” she commented.

“Yeah. How did you know I needed it?”

“It was cold this morning. I figured your scars would be acting up.”

“They were. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Hermione shifted uncomfortably. Was it warmer in the kitchen than it had been earlier?

Draco nodded absently, then turned back to the sink and kept washing the dishes. Hermione watched him for a moment before saying, “I’ll finish the dishes, if you want.”

Draco didn’t turn around. “No, it’s all right. You’re probably tired from all the work you’ve been doing. You can go ahead and eat. I’ll finish the dishes.”

Hermione bit her lip. So he was playing the nice card again. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I know.”

His simple response left little room for argument. Hermione shrugged and started for the door. “I’ll eat in my room, if that’s all right?”

“Sure,” he replied. “You can set your plate outside your door when you’re done. I’ll come and get them.”

Hermione tried not to sound harsh. “I am capable of walking down a staircase, you know.”

“I know.”

Well. There was no point in protesting, Hermione assumed. She turned and went back to her room without a word.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Hermione closed the book she had been reading with a sigh. While eating the simple meal Draco had fixed for her, she had thumbed through the remaining two books she had found in the tower. So far, nothing seemed to be helpful.

Hermione’s thoughts drifted to Draco. Why had she been so rude earlier? He was just trying to pay her back for her good deed. Even if he had ulterior motives, washing the dishes and making her dinner had been a genuinely kind thing to do, and Hermione regretted acting so suspicious toward him. She made up her mind to try to be more receptive in the future. Receptive, not vulnerable.

Draco seemed to be honest, she couldn’t help but think. He hadn’t done anything to make her think he was using her or hoped to betray her. If he wanted to do that, he probably would have handed her over to Voldemort already. Besides, Narcissa had said he was lonely and possibly even suicidal. It had to have been pure torture living alone and without magic for five years. Perhaps he really did just want a friend.

Hermione nodded her head resolutely. She would at least do him that favor.

She stood from her bed and tucked the spell books under her bed. Maybe she would read them later if she couldn’t find anything else of interest in the tower. She picked up her plate and water glass and headed for the door. When she opened it to set her plate down, she noticed that something was already there.

It was a stack of books. Setting her plate down, Hermione slid her finger down the bindings of the books. Several appeared to be history books, and others were magical instruction accounts, biographies, and novels. Had Draco put those there? Surely Narcissa hadn’t. She hadn’t even left the kitchen.

Then Hermione realized. Draco hadn’t known how to give her the books himself, so he devised a way to get them to her without embarrassing himself and without making her wonder who they were for. Hermione bit back a laugh. Even though they weren’t necessarily the books she would have picked on her own, it had been a thoughtful gesture, and she wondered if she should be suspicious of it. She decided to just accept them and move on. Hermione was willing to bet money that she wouldn’t be seeing Draco much for the next few days.

As she closed her door and started flipping through the first of the history books, Hermione thought that maybe it wouldn’t be so hard to coexist with Draco as she had thought.


	7. Into the Light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 7 is here, my friends! And I hope you're ready for a surprise, because that's what you're in for - but not too big of a surprise, because there's still many more twists to come :) Thanks so much for reading, and as always, read, review, and enjoy!

“Cho, this could mean all sorts of things. Are you positive Katie is the one who sent it?”

“Positive!” Cho declared, her voice echoing through the still night in the Order’s conference room. “Neville, Katie and I have been corresponding for four years now, ever since she agreed to be our mole in the Ministry. I know her style.”

“Still, messages can be faked very easily,” Neville countered, giving Cho a tired look. “I know this is important, but losing our heads over this message and rushing into a trap set by the Death Eaters is the last thing we need to do, especially with Hermione and Dennis out there somewhere.”

Katie Bell’s owl had been simple: _Subject has been located. Can’t disclose details in note. Meet at Rook house tomorrow at 9 PM._ Cho had become ecstatic upon reading it, but Neville had his doubts.

“How could anyone else know about this?” Cho pressed. “And how would they know who Katie was looking for anyway?”

Neville sighed in frustration. “The Ministry could have caught Katie looking for Dennis, or they could have used Legilimency on her. Someone could be intercepting your messages even!” Neville sighed and gave Cho a sympathetic look. “Cho, if the note didn’t ask us to meet her somewhere, I’d be more inclined to believe. But Katie has never once asked us to meet her since the War. It puts us and her in a lot of danger.”

“What is this Rook house anyway?” George asked, shifting in his seat.

Neville shrugged. “That’s another thing, Cho. I have no idea where Katie wants us to meet her, and I don’t think we should make any sloppy guesses.”

“She obviously expects someone here to know what she’s talking about,” Cho argued. “Let’s just ask around until we can figure out what it means.”

Neville shrugged again. “All right, go ahead. But no one is allowed to make a move until we all know for sure what’s going on.”

Cho nodded firmly. “Agreed.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Hermione’s guess that she wouldn’t see Draco for a while had been correct. It had been four days since she had last seen him.

It was best that way, Hermione told herself. Though the polite thing to do would be to thank him for the books he had left at her door, Draco was obviously not comfortable around her, and Hermione had no intention of going out of her way to thank him. Sure, maybe she had spent the last four days practicing what she would say if she _happened_ to bump into him, but didn’t she do that with everything? Hermione was a planner, and her over-analysis of the situation was normal for her. At least, that’s what she kept telling herself.

However, it was becoming harder and harder to ignore the facts. Ever since the last time she saw him, Hermione had been unable to keep Draco Malfoy out of her thoughts. Despite monumental efforts to keep her mind on her work, Hermione always seemed to drift back to ideas about him. Theories, questions, and imagined scenarios kept popping unsummoned and unwanted into her mind, and she was powerless to stop them. Living in his house certainly wasn’t helping, either.

Contrary to her first impression, Hermione had found the Draco’s books to be immensely entertaining. She had already read two of the history books and one biography, but the others were intriguing, and Hermione found herself staying up later than usual to read. Novels weren’t her favorite, either, but the adventure book Draco had given her was beyond interesting. Even the magical instruction manuals were informative, though she couldn’t use them.

Despite what she wanted to admit to herself, Draco had picked out the exact books he knew she would like. Hermione wasn’t sure how she felt about that, but it was at least better than being in constant conflict.

But a new problem had arisen. Hermione had run out of things to do.

It was four o’clock in the afternoon, and Hermione tapped her toes on the floor distractedly, her chin in her hand as she surveyed the living room and entry hall. In the nearly two weeks she had been in Draco’s manor, Hermione had scrubbed, mopped, swept, dusted, and rearranged every single room in the house that she had access to. The kitchen had taken two whole days to finish, but Hermione found herself bored stiff without anything to do. The rooms would surely need cleaning again sometime, but what was she supposed to do until then? Apparently Draco had run out of ideas as well, because Hermione had found no note on the outside of her bedroom door in two days.

Hermione mentally listed all the rooms in the house, trying to picture each one in her head. She twisted her mouth to the side and shifted her position in an armchair, turning to face the staircase. She briefly wondered if she should try to look for Draco, but she guessed he was probably in one of the locked rooms. There was no reason to disturb him if he didn’t want to be found.

Hermione sighed and stood from her seat, pacing the room aimlessly before suddenly striking on an idea. She couldn’t stop a smile from spreading across her face as she dashed up to her room to look for a specific book. It was one of the spell books she had found in the tower while eating lunch. Opening one of the drawers in her bureau, Hermione selected the book she was searching for, sat on the edge of her bed, and began rifling through the pages quickly.

She smiled triumphantly as she found what she had been looking for – a map. She had found it several days ago when it slipped out from between the pages of the spell book, somewhere in a section on wandless magic. She couldn’t be sure, but Hermione suspected it was a floorplan of the house.

Hermione planned to visit the basement first. Though she hadn’t found the entrance to it yet, she knew it existed. While scrubbing the house-elf room, Hermione has discovered a small hole in the wooden floor – the only one like it in the entire house. By peering through the hole, Hermione was almost positive she had seen another room down there.

Hermione examined the map carefully. It was fairly crude, as most wizards’ maps seemed to be, but it was legible enough. Hermione noticed that another tower had been sketched on the east side of the manor, but that it had been scratched out and replaced with the tower on the west side, which was drawn in slightly darker ink. A quick headcount told Hermione that there were approximately four rooms that she was locked out of – two on the third floor, the one next to the broom closet on the second floor, and the basement. None of the rooms were named on the map, so Hermione decided not to worry about the three upstairs rooms. If Draco didn’t want her going in them, she wasn’t going to risk making him angry.

Still, the basement was a puzzle. There was only one staircase marked on the floorplan, and it stretched from the third floor hallway, through the second floor, and landed halfway between the first floor’s sitting room and entry hall. Three doors to the outside were scattered through the first floor, but Hermione had already tried them all and been blocked by the thorns. Every other room that appeared on the map seemed to lead to a room that Hermione already knew was there. Where was the door to the basement?

Then it hit her. A secret entrance! If Hermione had learned anything at Hogwarts – and she most certainly had – it was that secret entrances were everywhere, and in the least expected places. Hermione scanned the map for any signs of a trapdoor or moving wall. She came up with nothing, so she decided to do the next best thing – look for it herself.

Hermione started with the first floor. It seemed to be the most logical thing to do; secret entrances were usually at least close to their destinations, and the first floor was obviously the closest thing to the basement. The entry hall, sitting room, house-elf room, ballroom, kitchen, and dining room all proved entirely unproductive. Peering through the hole in the floor gave Hermione nothing to go on, as well, since the room below seemed to be completely darkened.

It wasn’t until she tried every step on the staircase and found nothing that she had another idea. Perhaps the entrance to the basement was in one of the locked rooms, and that was why Draco didn’t want her going in. The thought gave her pause. If he didn’t want her in the basement, maybe she shouldn’t even look for it. It was entirely possible that it was the basement that he disappeared off to every day.

Hermione shook her head in annoyance. So many questions, not enough answers.

Pulling out the map and taking a seat on the staircase, Hermione perused the penciled-in boxes that represented the locked rooms on the map. The two on the third floor showed nothing, but the one on the second floor – the one that Draco had emerged from the day Hermione hid herself in the broom closet – showed promise. In the upper righthand corner of the room, a tiny, almost-invisible square had been sketched. Hermione smiled triumphantly. She had found it.

Twisting herself around to look at the door in question, Hermione wondered if it was safe to go inside. She stood and crept toward the door, peering in the small keyhole. It was hard to see, but Hermione didn’t see Draco anywhere inside the room. In fact, it looked rather bare.

Hermione thought for a moment, then decided to take the risk. After all, what else was there to do? She had spent the last four days polishing candlesticks and reading novels; she was ready for a little adventure. Hermione smiled fondly as a wave of nostalgia washed over her; she could very easily imagine Harry and Ron and herself sneaking around Hogwarts, looking for a secret something or other. She could almost hear one of Ron’s wonder-filled exclamations, followed by Harry’s snickering and her own shushing.

Hermione pushed those thoughts to the back of her mind to save for another day. This was not the time to reminisce.

The first step was to pick the lock. Hermione didn’t have any hairpins, so she went down to the kitchen and selected a small butter knife from the silverware drawer. Having never actually picked a lock before, Hermione started slowly, trying her best to be quiet. It wasn’t long before she started to get the hang of it, and after only about ten minutes of tinkering, the lock clicked and the doorknob turned.

Hermione held her breath as the door slowly swung open. _At least the hinges aren’t creaking,_ she thought. She supposed she could run into the broom closet again if she needed to, but Draco would know she was the one who had come in. And there were only so many places she would be able to hide before he found her.

Her curiosity overcoming her fear, Hermione peeked inside the room, surveying the surroundings. Draco was nowhere to be seen, and Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. There was very little inside the room at all. A small card table sat in one corner, set off by two plain wooden chairs. Dark green curtains hung around the single, vine-blocked window, and a plain light fixture dangled from the ceiling. A fringed rug decorated the middle of the floor.

Hermione frowned to herself as she walked to the righthand corner. The floor, walls, and ceiling were solid stone, and no furniture or marks on the wall indicated any sort of oddity in the corner. Hermione pulled out the map and studied it. She had the right corner, but there was no indication of any secret entrance.

However, Hermione had never been one to give up. She started feeling around the corner, where the two walls met, looking for some sort of crack or indentation. Her fingers brushed a tiny lump in the wall. She was just about to lean in to examine it when she heard Draco’s voice.

“What in Merlin’s name are you doing?”

Hermione gasped, startled after her intense concentration on the wall had been interrupted. Draco looked furious, his scarred face radiating his displeasure as he stood just outside the door. Hermione couldn’t think of a single word to say in response.

“Well?” he demanded, taking a step inside the room. “I asked you a question, Granger. Answer it.”

Her words failed her. “I…”

Draco strode forward, coming nearly halfway across the room before stopping. Hermione wanted to step back, but she didn’t dare show him any fear. Besides, the wall was blocking her way.

“How did you get in here?” he said, his voice rising in anger.

Hermione swallowed hard and forced calmness into her voice. “I… I picked the lock.”

Draco gave her an incredulous look. “With that?” he asked, gesturing towards the butter knife lying at Hermione’s feet.

“Yeah,” she replied. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“Don’t mind?” he echoed scornfully. “If you have to pick a lock to get into a room in my house, do you think I mind you going in? I lock my doors for a reason, Granger! You had no right to do that.”

“I’m sorry,” Hermione said sincerely. “I honestly didn’t mean to offend you.”

Draco glared at her a moment longer, then seemed to calm slightly. “What are you doing in here anyway?”

Hermione shrugged. “Just looking around.”

“Oh, please,” Draco snorted. “You don’t do anything without having a reason. You were looking for something, weren’t you?”

“W-what makes you say that?”

“I saw you feeling around the corner, Granger. I’m not an idiot.”

Hermione frowned. “Fine. I was looking for something.”

“Such as what?”

She paused, wondering if she should tell him. Finally she decided to go ahead and spit it out; she had come this far, hadn’t she? “I was looking for the entrance to the basement.”

A look of sheer confusion came over Draco’s face. “The… the what?”

“The basement. I saw it through a crack in the floor.”

“What floor?”

“The house-elf room,” Hermione said. “The one next to the kitchen.”

Draco shook his head, running a hand through his hair. “I thought I fixed that hole.”

“It’s not a bad one,” she commented. “I can fix it, if you’d like.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Draco sighed. “Anyway, there is no basement. I don’t know what you saw, but the first floor is as low as the house goes.”

“But –”

“I don’t know what you saw,” he said, cutting her off. “But it wasn’t a basement.”

Hermione set her jaw and gave Draco a defiant look. “I know what I saw, Malfoy. I can show it to you if you don’t believe me.”

“I don’t have to see it!” Draco said, a bit rougher than necessary. “There is no basement. Even if there were, why would you be looking for it in here?”

Hermione faltered. “I, uh… I just kind of thought, maybe… um…”

“Granger, tell me,” he said seriously. “I want to know.”

Hermione gave an impatient sigh. “Fine. If you must know, I was looking for a secret entrance and saw that there was an extra square in this room on the floorplan of the house –”

“What?!” Draco screeched. “What floorplan? Granger, what have you been doing?”

“I haven’t been doing anything wrong! I just found it in a spell book –”

“What spell book? I didn’t give you any spell books!”

“You didn’t give it to me; I found it.”

“You found it?”

“Yeah, in the tower.”

Draco suddenly looked angry enough to punch a wall. “The tower?! Granger, you dirty little sneak! You’re not allowed up there! How many locks have you picked?”

“I didn’t pick that lock!” Hermione retorted. “The tower door was unlocked when I went up to clean it.”

Draco didn’t stop glowering, but he did slow his torrent of accusations. “All right, maybe I didn’t lock that one. But still, I didn’t give you permission to go in there, and I didn’t tell you to clean it, either.”

“This was before you started leaving the notes on my door,” Hermione shot back. “And I only went in to clean.”

Draco nodded his head dismissively. “Fine, it was unlocked, you went in, found a spell book. Where did you get a floorplan?”

“It was inside one of the books. I was flipping through it one night –”

“You go up there at night?”

“No, I took it to my room and –”

“You took my books out of the tower?!” Hermione thought Draco might actually combust. “Granger!”

“Let me finish!” she shouted back. “I was flipping through one of the spell books and found the floorplan in the pages. I didn’t have anything to do today, so I thought I’d look for the basement and see what I could do down there.”

“There is no basement.”

“I heard you the first three times,” Hermione said irritably. “Anyway, I was looking for the basement entrance and saw a little square drawn in this room. I didn’t want to bother you and I didn’t know where you were, so I just picked the lock to look around.”

Draco glared at her. “Where’s the floorplan now?”

“Why?” Hermione asked suspiciously.

“Where is it, Granger!?”

“It’s right here!” Hermione shouted, pulling the map out of her pocket. “Godric, you’re such an impatient, entitled git!” Draco reached for the floorplan, but Hermione held on to it. “And why do you want this so bad? I wasn’t hurting it.”

“Just give it here, Granger. I don’t have to explain myself to you.”

Hermione glared back, putting a little venom into her words. “You’re acting awfully strange, Malfoy. You sure I didn’t stumble onto some kind of secret plot? Secret Death Eater convention or something?”

Hermione knew her words stung Draco just by the look on his face, but she couldn’t stop them. “I can assure you, Granger, that anything I want to keep a secret will remain a secret. I have no interest in baring my soul to you, so kindly hand me my map and let me leave you to the rest of your day.”

Hermione pressed her lips together and gave Draco a look that could have melted diamonds. “Fine. Take your precious –”

She was just extending the map, moving her fingers slightly to get a better grip on it, when suddenly, the world started spinning. Hermione was vaguely aware of Draco’s terrified expression and a faint sensation of queasiness, and then the whole world went black.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“Nope, I don’t know anybody named Rook,” Oliver Wood declared. “Maybe check with Romilda, or even Nigel. They’ve been doing a lot of bookkeeping since Hermione… left.”

Cho nodded her head, looking somewhat downcast. “Okay. Thanks anyway, Oliver.”

Oliver smiled. “Anytime. Let me know if you find out anything, okay?”

“Okay.”

Cho sighed as she put Katie’s message back in its folder. She had been asking around for several hours now, and no one in the Order knew anything about anyone named Rook, or any establishment called Rook. Cho was positive the message was legitimate, but Neville was in charge. They couldn’t do a thing until he said so.

Cho returned to the conference room, dragging her feet slowly. She dreaded telling Neville that no one had recognized the Rook house, but she had no choice. Oliver was the last one she hadn’t asked.

As she approached the meeting room, Cho heard quiet voices drifting from the table. “He said a girl matching Hermione’s description was killed by her owner just a couple of weeks ago,” Seamus whispered. “Felix Goyle owned her. Apparently she was Theodore Nott’s before that.”

“Hermione hasn’t been gone that long,” Neville replied, his voice sounding hoarse. “The timeframe doesn’t match up. Even if Goyle was the one who bought her, Nott would have had to have bought her at least a month ago. Knowing him, probably longer.”

“I know,” Seamus agreed. “It just worried me, is all. Hermione’s in a dangerous spot right now.”

Cho decided to make her move. As she nudged the half-open door, Neville and Seamus looked up. “All the more reason we need to meet Katie,” she said meaningfully.

Neville sighed. “How long have you been listening, Cho?”

“Just a second,” she replied. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop.”

Neville nodded, and Seamus gestured to the file in Cho’s hands. “Find out anything?”

Cho shook her head. “No. No one knows anyone named Rook, and no one has heard of a restaurant or a business called Rook.”

“So we can’t do anything,” Neville pointed out. “Not if we don’t know where to meet her.”

Cho collapsed into a chair across from Seamus, setting the file on the table. “I know. I just… Katie wouldn’t have sent this if she didn’t think we’d understand what she meant.”

Neville shrugged. “Yep. And that’s why I don’t want to rush into anything. If it’s not Katie waiting for us, we’ll be walking into a trap.”

“I know,” Cho sighed. “I just got excited, I guess. If it is Katie, I hope she understands why we don’t meet her.”

Neville nodded again, giving Cho a sympathetic smile. “I’m really sorry, Cho. I know how much this meant to you. I just don’t want to take any chances.” When Cho gave an understanding smile, Neville continued. “Well, since you’re here, you might as well be the first to know. Seamus went into the Ministry to try to get some information on muggle girls sold recently. It would seem that at least seven girls have been bought in the main slave rackets, but there’s no telling with the independent dealers. Considering Hermione went to Diagon Alley to look for Dennis, that’s probably where she was captured, but there’s no way of knowing for sure right now.”

Seamus nodded. “What had me worried was hearing that a slave girl matching Hermione’s description was killed just a few weeks ago. She belonged to Goyle’s dad. Before that, Theodore Nott owned her.”

Cho shook her head. “Poor Hermione. I hope so much she’s all right.”

The three of them sat in silence for a moment, staring into space, each lost in their own thoughts. They all looked up when they saw Luna Lovegood approach the door and poke her head in.

“Just got back from checking the wards,” Luna said softly. “They’re all secure.”

“Great,” Neville replied, giving her a tired smile.

“Luna!” Cho exclaimed, her eyes widening. “I forgot you weren’t here!”

Luna smiled distractedly. “Hmm, that’s comforting,” she drawled.

Cho shook her head. “No, I… that’s not what I meant. I’ve been asking around if anyone knows what Katie is talking about in her message.”

“I’ll be glad to help if I can,” Luna said, taking a seat next to Neville.

Cho hurriedly pulled the message out of the folder and handed it to Luna. “This is the message from Katie Bell. We need to know if you know anyone named Rook or a building called Rook.”

Luna tilted her head to the side. “What do you mean?”

“It says here,” Cho read, _“Meet at Rook house tomorrow at 9 PM._ Do you have any idea what that means?”

Luna thought for a moment, then broke out in a grin. “Well, of course I do. That’s my house.”

“Your house?” Neville asked incredulously.

“Yeah,” she replied. “My house is shaped like a rook, the chess piece.”

“That’s it, Neville!” Cho shouted, jumping to her feet. “Now we know!”

Neville held up his hand. “One more thing, Luna. Did Katie Bell ever see your house? Did she know it was shaped like a rook?”

“Oh, yes,” Luna mused. “She came once for a garden party my father threw for all the Quibbler subscribers. If I recall, she got there early with her mother and –”

“That’s it,” Cho interrupted, too excited to wait. “It’s got to be Katie.”

Neville furrowed his brow as he looked between Cho, Luna, and Seamus. Finally he spoke. “All right, Cho. Go get a team together. We’ll do it.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The first thing Hermione remembered was cold, gray stone. At first she thought she was looking at the floor, but she soon realized she was staring up at the ceiling. A glance around her told her she was in her bedroom, lying on her bed. She frowned. Was it morning?

The day’s previous events slowly began coming back to her, and Hermione shook her head to clear it. For reasons unknown, she had collapsed in the locked room after handing the map to Draco. Had the map somehow been jinxed? Could Draco have done it himself? Surely she hadn’t just fainted!

Hermione had no time to ponder the dilemma any more, for no sooner had she raised her head to look around the room did Draco come around the corner, stopping short in her bedroom doorframe when he saw that she was awake.

“Oh, you’re up,” he said, seeming surprised and relieved at the same time.

“Yeah,” she croaked, her voice sounding far-off. “How long have I been out?”

Draco shrugged. “Maybe two hours.” He hesitated, but added, “I was afraid you might not wake up.”

“Have you really gotten _that_ desperate, Malfoy?” she asked, trying to make a joke.

He gave her a half-smirk. “No. But I don’t want a dead girl in my house. Merlin knows what kind of trouble you can get into as a ghost.”

Hermione tried to laugh but found that her voice wasn’t strong enough. Draco was slowly edging his way out the door again, so Hermione quickly asked, “What happened?”

Draco stopped his shuffling and swallowed hard. He looked very nervous. “Um… I guess you just kind of… passed out.” At Hermione’s suspicious look, he added, “You’re probably just overworked.”

Hermione shook her head. “I didn’t _pass out,_ Malfoy. Something happened, and I want to know what it was.” He started to shake his head, but Hermione broke in before he could start. “I’ve been honest with you. The least you can do is tell me why I collapsed.”

For a moment, Hermione thought Draco was about to give her a snarky comment and walk away. But he didn’t. Instead, he gave her an almost pleading look before sighing and turning his gaze on the floor. “I know. I guess… I guess there’s no point in keeping it from you any longer. I don’t know why I haven’t told you; I guess I thought you wouldn’t believe me.”

Hermione pushed herself up so that she was leaning on her elbows. Draco’s behavior was beyond unusual, and Hermione was anxious to hear his explanation. “Go on. I’m listening.”

He raised his cloudy eyes to stare into hers. Hermione felt a sudden wave of… _something_ … come over her. She honestly thought she would believe anything he told her in that moment.

“It’s a portkey,” Draco said bluntly.

Hermione couldn’t believe her ears. “A… a what?”

“A portkey. The map of the house is a portkey. Only one little part of it is, though. I don’t know how you didn’t hit on it before that, but you must have put your finger on it when you were handing me the map.”

“A portkey?” Hermione repeated. “A portkey to where?”

“Well…” Draco mumbled. “This is the tricky part.” He opened his mouth to speak, then changed his mind and said something else. “I guess when you touched it, it tried to transport you, but your magical bond to the house kept you from leaving. I’ll admit, I tried it myself years ago. I was out cold for hours before I woke up. I guess it just doesn’t work against such strong bonds.”

“Okay,” Hermione interjected. “I get it. But you didn’t answer my question. Where does the portkey lead?”

Draco sighed again, then began slowly walking across the room to her bed. Hermione pushed herself into a sitting position, trying to look defensive. Draco was not deterred, however, and knelt down next to the bed, staring into her eyes with a heavy-lidded gaze. Hermione found herself almost entranced. Was he hypnotizing her? Or had his eyes always been a crystal-clear gray? Did she see her reflection in the milky scar in his right eye?

Draco finally spoke, his voice thick and hushed. “The portkey leads to Grimmauld Place.”

Hermione frowned. “Grimmauld Place? But that’s been abandoned for years.”

“I know,” he replied. “That’s why it was perfect. My contact and I used to meet there, and we used Portkeys to stay undetected.”

“Your contact? Undetected?” Hermione echoed. “Malfoy, what are you talking about?”

Draco’s eyes bore into hers with an intensity Hermione didn’t know he possessed. It was as though he were staring directly into her soul. Hermione felt her pulse quickening, her throat getting dry.

“Hermione,” he said softly. _Hermione._ Had he ever called her by her first name?

“Hermione,” he said again. “I hope you’ll believe me when I tell you this.”

“Tell me,” Hermione said wonderingly.

Draco implored her with his eyes as he spoke. “Hermione, the reason I have this portkey, the reason Voldemort cursed me in this house… the reason for all this is, I betrayed the Death Eaters. I tried to lead an uprising. Hermione, I know about the Order, and I almost did it. I almost made it right. I almost set you all free.”


	8. Learning You Were Wrong

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 8 is up and running, my friends! I can't believe we're about halfway through at this point. You all really seemed to love Blaise and Theodore in their last appearance, so I think you'll enjoy their hijinks here. A few questions will be answered in this chapter, along with many, many more in chapter 9 :) As always, thank you so much for reading my story. Read, review, and enjoy!!

_“Oh, come live with me and be my love, and we will all the pleasures prove that –”_

Blaise grimaced. “Nott, if you don’t stop that singing and shut up, I’ll turn you into a swallow.”

“A swallow?” Theodore echoed, the grin never leaving his face. “Why a swallow?”

“Well, maybe if you were a bird, you’d be able to sing on key.”

Theodore laughed as Blaise shook his head in annoyance. “All right, I’ll stop. But I do need some practice.” He smirked. “Maybe serenading Granger with some sincere ballads will soften her stone-cold heart.”

Blaise rolled his eyes. “And stop talking like a poet. Granger wouldn’t even fall for you if you erased her memory. Just forget about it.”

“I’m not giving up,” Theodore said cheerfully. “I don’t care if she hates me; the stubborn ones are always the most fun to tame. Besides –”

“Besides nothing. She’s Draco’s girl, and we’ve got a bet. If you whisk her away before Christmas, I’ll owe you fifty galleons, and I’d prefer not to have to listen to you gloat about winning the bet _and_ getting Granger.”

Theodore clucked his tongue. “It was worth a try.” He took to whistling, keeping time with his steps as he and Blaise walked through a bustling alley after work. “Say,” he continued, giving Blaise a sly look. “What was Narcissa telling you the other day?”

Blaise frowned. “Spying on me again, eh?”

“I wasn’t spying!” Theodore protested. “I just happened to be passing by your office and saw her in there with you. She looked worried, so I thought I might as well ask.”

“If Narcissa wanted you to know, she would have told you.”

“Maybe she forgot!” Theodore insisted. “Come on, is it about Draco?”

“I’m not going to say.”

“Come on, Zabini. Spill!”

“What happened the last time I told you a secret?” Blaise asked pointedly. “I told you that I was planning on asking Carice Speck to go to your mother’s Christmas party with me, and –”

“I didn’t tell her you were going to ask her!”

“No, but you told Alexa Newbinger, and she told Evelyn Cavanaugh, and she told Carice. So Carice got another date and I had to go alone.”

“At least I spared you a rejection,” Theodore countered. “And anyway, that was six years ago! I won’t tell. Is it something Malfoy’s done?”

“Narcissa told me in confidence, Theo.”

Theodore heaved an impatient sigh. “And why would she tell you and not me?”

“Maybe because I’m the mature, responsible one, and you lost her mother’s chandelier?”

“It was an accident,” Theodore replied. “Just tell me, Blaise.”

“I don’t know…”

“I can always start singing again,” he threatened.

Blaise threw his hands in the air. “Fine! I guess you won’t tell anyone.” Blaise glanced over his shoulder and leaned in closer so he could speak in a quieter tone. “Narcissa said that the Ministry is starting to get really nervous about a leak.”

“A leak?” Theodore’s voice was surprised. “Like a mole or something?”

“Yeah. Apparently there’s a few secrets here and there that have been leaked, but no one knows who’s doing it. There’s even talk that the Order might have a spy in the Ministry.”

“The Order?” Theodore repeated. “Oh, come on, Blaise. The Order doesn’t exist anymore!”

Blaise shook his head. “Draco thought they did. Remember when he got caught? His contact got away, and a contact doesn’t just materialize. Remember what a big deal it was, everyone trying to figure out who the guy was and where the rest of the survivors were hiding?”

“Yeah, I remember,” Theodore agreed. “And I guess Granger had to come from somewhere.”

“Exactly. It’s what I’ve been thinking. Narcissa said the information really started to disappear around a month and a half ago. That’s the same time Draco got Granger.”

Theodore frowned. “You mean, you think Granger has been working for the Ministry as a spy?”

“No,” Blaise said. “There’s no way she could do that unrecognized. Besides, she’d never let herself be caught as a slave, and we’d have heard all about it if the Ministry knew Hermione Granger had been captured.” Blaise’s voice took on an excited quality, and Theodore knew that his friend had been turning this idea over in his head. “No, my suspicion is that Granger is part of what’s left of the Order. When she was captured, the spy in the Ministry started getting frantic looking for her.”

“So why haven’t they located her yet? If the Ministry _and_ the Order are looking for her, they’ll find her sooner or later.”

“Maybe, maybe not,” Blaise argued. “According to all the records, Hermione Granger is dead, and Amelia Finberry was bought by Narcissa Malfoy. No one knows Granger is alive and in Draco’s house except us and Narcissa.”

“And Narcissa doesn’t even know it’s Granger!” Theodore realized.

“Exactly.”

Theodore frowned again. “So you weren’t going to tell me all this?”

“Nope. I just didn’t want to hear you sing again.”

Theodore laughed. “I’ll have to remember to use that as blackmail. And I guess that’s why we’re going to Draco’s, huh?”

“That’s right,” Blaise agreed. “I want to talk to Granger.”

“As if she’d tell you anything,” Theodore snorted.

“You never know. Maybe if she thinks we’re on her side, she’ll talk.”

Theodore gave Blaise a questioning look. _“Are_ we on her side?”

Blaise shrugged. “I don’t know. These days, who does?”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Hermione sighed for what seemed like the hundredth time, halfheartedly shutting the biography she had been reading. The life of Edgar Stroulger was interesting enough, but Hermione found that she couldn’t stay focused.

Four days. It had been four long, slow, excruciating days since Draco Malfoy had revealed that he was on her side.

_I betrayed the Death Eaters. I tried to lead an uprising. Hermione, I know about the Order, and I almost did it. I almost made it right. I almost set you all free._

How was she supposed to react to a statement like that? Should she believe him? Everything in Hermione’s head screamed at her to be wary, to not trust a solitary thing that came out of the Slytherin traitor’s mouth. But there was something somewhere inside of her that couldn’t shake the feeling that he was telling the truth. Maybe it was the way he looked at her when he made his revelation, with guileless, saucer-wide eyes and a pleading gaze. Maybe it was his tone of voice: calm and gentle, yet firm and honest. If Draco was just acting and trying to fool her, Hermione thought he deserved an award.

It had been four days, and in those four days, Hermione had not seen, heard, or sensed Draco anywhere in the house. Granted, she had made it clear to him that she didn’t want to talk to him – as soon as he told her he was with the Order, she had kicked him out of her room and called him a liar and a sadist – but the four days had passed agonizingly slowly. For the first two days, Hermione had not left her bedroom and had whacked mercilessly at the vines on her window. But when she finally ventured into the hallway on the second day, unable to ignore her stomach growls any longer, she found no sign of the other person living in the house with her.

In the two days following that, Hermione had only left her room once, and then only to fill her water jug with enough to last her for a while longer. Hermione knew that Narcissa would be coming by, probably in the next day or two, and she didn’t want to think about it. Staying locked in her bedroom for days on end seemed pointless and potentially harmful to both of them, but Hermione wasn’t ready to face Draco yet. Not after the way she screamed insults at him for mocking her and trying to deceive her. Not after blatantly ignoring him for four days. And especially not after she couldn’t think of one reason that he might be lying.

Draco, Narcissa, Blaise, and Theodore had not said a single thing that contradicted Draco’s claim. Though very little had been spoken about Draco’s life before the curse – everyone seemed to skirt around it, actually – Draco had obviously done something to infuriate Voldemort, and what better way to do that than try to bring back the very thing that had fought Voldemort in the first place? Cursing Draco to a monotonous, everyday punishment seemed decidedly un-Voldemort-like, but Hermione supposed that there could very easily be a reason.

Still, four days had given birth to a thousand questions. Why did Draco decide to help the Order? Had he been working undercover for them all along? If so, why didn’t she – one of the ringleaders of the remaining Order – know about him? How much did Draco know about the Order? Who was his contact? How many others in the Ministry know about the uprising? How many agreed with him? How many had _helped_ him? Did he still believe in what he had nearly died for? Was it safe to even ask?

It would appear that Hermione’s curiosity was conquering her fear.

Stacking her biography on top of the rest of the books she had collected, Hermione stood from where she had been sitting on her bed and faced the door. Taking a deep breath and willing herself to have a little courage, she strode for the door and marched into the hallway, ready to confront Draco and satisfy her curiosity. If she had to eat some humble pie to get answers, then so be it.

However, Hermione’s plan was better than the execution. Draco was nowhere to be found. After cautiously skulking through the hallway, discretely peeking into Draco’s empty bedroom, and padding down the staircase, Hermione found herself slightly unsettled. A quick run-through of the first and third floors proved unsuccessful as well, and the only other option was the basement. Based on her previous experiences in trying to get into the basement, Hermione had no intention of trying to seek Draco out down there.

So she waited. A layer of dust had settled over the house once again in the last week, and Hermione took advantage of her situation. After dusting and sweeping through the main rooms of the first floor, Hermione set to work in the kitchen, whipping up a quick dinner of vegetable soup while she worked. She was surprised that the noise didn’t attract Draco’s attention.

 _But, then again, I did say some rather horrid things to him, didn’t I?_ Hermione mused. Maybe an apology would be the best thing she could offer, whether he was telling the truth or not. Besides, if Draco really was on her side, the last thing she needed to do was keep antagonizing him.

Even though she didn’t want to do it, Hermione finally talked herself into venturing into the basement. Spending a couple of hours out of her room had bolstered her courage, and she arduously began the climb to the second floor. She briefly considered fetching the map just in case she needed it, but she really didn’t want to have to touch it again. She wasn’t even sure where Draco had put it.

Pushing her doubts aside, Hermione nudged the second-floor door open, noting that the lock she had picked with the knife was not locked; rather, the door was cracked open and swung wide the moment she touched it. Nothing in the room appeared changed, but there was a long crack in the righthand corner of the walls that hadn’t been there the last time Hermione examined it. In fact, a thin shaft of light was poking through the crack, further reassuring Hermione that Draco was down there. 

She wondered how he would respond to her coming down to see him. She had made it very clear that she didn’t want to see him, and he obviously didn’t want her in the basement. But she just couldn’t let the matter go any longer. Hermione’s pulse quickened as she wondered what she would say. She regretted her flash temper lashing out at him, but she reasoned that she had been startled, confused, afraid, and angry all at the same time, leading to a rash reaction. Hopefully, Draco would understand.

Hermione slowly placed her hand on the wall and applied pressure. The wall very slowly creaked open, and Hermione winced at the echoing sound. The element of surprise was no longer on her side. Her cover blown, Hermione simply pushed the wall the rest of the way and ignored the heavy creaks that accompanied it, noting that the door was surprisingly easy to move. When the wall was just wide enough to enter, Hermione squeezed through and found herself in a tunnel, only big enough for her.

A single torch lit the stone walls around her, giving off an eerie glow in the already damp twilight. The tunnel only led one way: a downward slope that twisted off to the right. Steeling her nerves, Hermione swallowed hard and made her way down the tunnel, following the sharp twists and turns as she descended. The lower into the ground the tunnel wound, the darker it became, and Hermione wished she had taken the torch from the entrance. When the tunnel grew so dark that she could no longer see the ground in front of her, Hermione considered turning back.

A few steps more, and Hermione saw the literal light at the end of the tunnel. The shaft appeared to empty into a spacious room several yards ahead, and Hermione crossed the distance quickly, stepping into the cavern and covering her mouth in surprise.

The room was at least as large as the ballroom, if not larger. Its walls ran in a circular shape, dotted with candles and torches that lent a cozy, almost unearthly feel to the room. The ceiling stretched high, so high that Hermione had to crane her neck to see the hewn marks that scratched across the rock cavern ceiling. A section of the ceiling on the far right was made of wooden boards. ¬ _The floor of the house-elf room!_ Hermione realized. The entire cavern appeared to be man-made, with indents in the rock that could only have been carved by tools.

The contents of the room were just as surprising. An enormous mahogany table with intricately chiseled designs filled the center of the room, dominating the view with its sheer size. Around the table were several chairs and carts. Every surface that Hermione could see was covered in bottles, boxes, containers, pouches, and all sorts of equipment that made the table look like a mad scientist’s lair. Books of all kinds were scattered throughout the clutter as well, and Hermione suddenly noticed the towering bookshelves on the opposite side of the room, packed with more books than Hermione could ever imagine reading or even collecting. A large black board hung on one wall, and several unfamiliar tools beside it. All in all, the room looked more like a laboratory than anything else.

Hermione simply stood for several more minutes, raking in as much information as she could gather just by standing in the doorway. The atmosphere of the room was not one of secrecy and oppression, as she might have guessed, but rather she felt welcomed, almost as if she were being invited to enter and explore. So she did just that, taking a few cautious steps into the laboratory before reaching out to brush her fingers along the edge of the table.

 _So I’m not imagining this place after all,_ Hermione thought.

Hermione walked the length of the table, examining everything she passed but not daring to touch anything. All the bottles and boxes were neatly labeled and seemed to be organized, though Hermione didn’t understand the method. Everything seemed to be potions ingredients, but many of them were unfamiliar to Hermione. After rounding the far end of the table, Hermione noticed that one of the magnificent bookshelves housed nothing but jars and vials of all manner of potions, all labeled and organized like the ingredients.

Hermione shook her head in wonder. Had Draco done all this? If so, what was he planning to do with it all? Surely it had taken many years to collect so many potions. How could he possibly have gotten them in his cursed state? Had he… had he made them himself? It was impossible! _Then again,_ Hermione thought, _he’s had five years of isolation to do anything he wanted to in here._ Still, Draco Malfoy was no potions master. Hermione remembered their days at Hogwarts, when Snape was always awarding points to Slytherin for Malfoy’s work. Hermione had always assumed that Snape was just showing favoritism. Could Malfoy really have been that good?

Hermione quickly scanned the titles on the rest of the bookshelves. Most of the books appeared to be books on potions, with a few spell books and instruction manuals thrown in, as well. Hermione approached the large black board hanging on the lefthand wall in wonder. An enormous tome lay open on a little bench near the board. Hermione’s eyes widened when she saw that the book was a highly detailed guide to wandless magic.

It made sense. Draco didn’t have a wand; he wanted to learn wandless magic. It didn’t explain the potions, but Hermione already had a few ideas for that. She had been hoping that a trip to the basement would clear up some of her questions, but instead it had only raised more curiosity. At the thought, Hermione turned and looked around the rest of the room. She had been so wrapped up in her discoveries that she had completely forgotten about Draco.

Edging around the table and keeping her back to the bookcases, Hermione walked as quietly as possible. It was several moments before she saw a piece of furniture that she hadn’t noticed before. It was a writing desk, carved as elegantly as the rest of the furniture in the room. More of the same kind of potions supplies were scattered across the desk, along with papers, pens, inkwells, and – to Hermione’s surprise – the very map she had discovered.

There was a door in one wall, one that looked similar to the door to the tower’s entrance. Hermione forced back a smile as she recalled Draco’s reaction to her admitting she had been in the tower. _I’ll bet that door leads straight to the tower,_ she thought. She had been close to the answer all along.

Still, the question remained: where was Draco? Hermione willed herself to walk away from the desk and examine the rest of the room. She could always come back when Draco wasn’t there and explore further. For now, she had a million questions, and only one person could answer them. She found her answer when she rounded the corner of the desk.

Draco was lying on the floor behind the desk, white as death and surrounded by a pool of blood.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“No, just open the door. Merlin, it’s not that difficult.”

“I know, I know. Say, looks pretty clean.”

Blaise and Theodore both stepped into the entry hall of Draco’s home and shut the door behind them. “This place always gives me the shivers,” Theodore remarked.

Blaise rolled his eyes. “Whatever you say.” He cleared his throat, then shouted as loudly as he could, “Malfoy! You’ve got company!”

Blaise’s shout echoed through the stone walls of the house, but there was no reply. Theodore snickered. “Maybe he’s asleep,” he suggested.

“At five o’clock?” Blaise scoffed. “He’s probably in the basement.”

Theodore raised an eyebrow skeptically. “What makes you think that?”

“He always answers when we call, so he obviously didn’t hear us.”

“Again, maybe he’s asleep,” Theodore said. “You never know, him and Granger…”

Blaise rolled his eyes. “Fine. Where do _you_ think they are?”

“Well… maybe they’re up in the tower.” Theodore’s eyes took on a mischievous gleam. “Maybe they’re having a wild –”

“I don’t want to hear the end of that sentence,” Blaise interrupted. “Go check the tower if you want to. I’m going to look in the basement.”

“Tower leads to the basement anyway,” Theodore pointed out. “I’ll meet you down there.”

“Fine.”

Theodore smirked. “Just be warned; if I find Granger first, I may be a little late. That’s okay, right?”

Blaise gave Theodore a look that silenced any further question about Granger, but he thought he heard a faint off-key humming coming from behind him as they trudged up the steps and entered the empty bedroom.

“Why do you ever question my logic, Nott?” Blaise asked, nudging Theodore with his elbow as he gestured toward the open door to the secret tunnel.

“Well, everybody has their off days,” he muttered. Shouldering through the open door, Theodore shouted down into the tunnel, “Malfoy! You down there, mate?”

There was no answer for a moment, and Theodore gave Blaise a triumphant look.

“Well, come on,” Blaise said. “We can at least take a look.”

The two Slytherins carefully made their way down the tunnel, bickering back and forth and occasionally calling out to Draco. They entered the cavern without hesitation, and Blaise said, “Draco? Are you in here?”

Blaise suddenly felt a tug on his arm, and he turned to face a wide-eyed Theodore. Before he could speak, he noticed that Theodore was pointing to the right side of the cavern. One look at the situation told him everything he needed to know.

Blaise crossed the distance to the desk in three angry strides, and Granger watched him do it, backing up from where she had been kneeling next to Draco and raising her hands in defense when she saw the look on Blaise’s face. “Zabini, I swear, I didn’t do it.”

Theodore placed a hand on Blaise’s shoulder to hold him back, but Blaise’s reply was no less infuriated. “You little fiend! You filthy, ungrateful Mudblood! How could you do it?”

Granger’s face was determined and defiant. “I didn’t do a thing to him, Zabini, and I certainly don’t appreciate the Mudblood comment.”

Blaise snarled at her, starting to pull his wand out. Granger suddenly shrank back, trying to shield herself with her arms. Blaise lowered his wand and ignored her, instead kneeling next to where Draco lay.

“Granger,” Theodore said evenly, “if you didn’t do this, who did?”

She slowly shook her head, obviously trying to formulate an answer that would make sense. “I… I don’t know. I just came down and found him like this. I swear, I just found him…”

Theodore nodded, then knelt down next to Blaise. “Is he alive?”

“I think so,” Blaise answered. “His pulse is weak, but he’s still breathing.”

“How does he look?”

“How does he look to you?” Blaise snapped. He sighed and forced himself to speak more calmly. “I don’t know much about medicine. I don’t know what’s wrong with him or what to do.”

Hermione stepped forward after a moment, nervously facing the two men. “Well, for starters, we can get him off the floor,” she said as bravely as she could. “I can go upstairs and get his bed ready, if you’ll bring him up.”

“If you know that, what’s he doing still on the floor?” Blaise asked her sharply.

Hermione glared back at him. “I only found him a few minutes ago, Zabini. I don’t have any magic to levitate him with, and there’s no chance I could get him upstairs alone.”

Blaise started to retort, but Theodore interrupted him. “Good thing we came by then,” he commented.

Hermione and Blaise were still glaring at each other. “I can think of a few things I would have done,” Blaise said icily. “And I can think of a few things I’d like to –”

“Blaise,” Theodore interrupted again. “Deal with Malfoy now, Granger later, right? He’s the one bleeding out on the floor.”

Blaise sighed. “Yeah. Come on, Theo, help me out. You go get his bed ready,” he barked at Hermione. She glared at him a moment more before jogging to the entrance of the cavern and out of sight.

Theodore pulled out his wand and quickly performed the levitating charm on Draco, with Blaise carefully keeping Draco’s head aloft. They moved toward the entrance together and slowly made their way through the tunnel.

“This would be a lot easier if we could just Apparate,” Theodore commented, receiving only a grunt from Blaise in reply. “The tower would have been an easier way to go.”

Blaise shook his head. “Just as long both ways. This way has less stairs.”

Theodore shrugged. “I guess that’s why you’re the brains.”

The walk through the tunnel seemed to last an eternity, but they finally made it to the empty bedroom, where Hermione was anxiously standing in the doorway. She scurried out of their way as they brought Draco through, and she stayed at their heels as they carefully levitated Draco into his own bedroom and onto the bed.

“Go get a wet washcloth, Granger,” Blaise ordered, not even looking at her.

Hermione eyed him steadily. “Get it yourself.”

“Do what he says, Granger,” Theodore recommended, but Hermione just shook her head.

“He doesn’t need a washcloth,” she said. “He’s suffering from some kind of shock. If you’ll pull his eyelids back, his pupils are dilated. That’s a sure sign of shock.”

“Oh, and what are you, a nurse? A healer?” Blaise scoffed, turning to face her.

Hermione frowned and crossed her arms. “No, it’s just that most Muggles find it useful to know a little about first aid. I think you’ll find it comes in handy during situations like this.”

Blaise set his jaw. “All right, so why’s he bleeding, Madam Healer? I don’t think that’s an effect of shock.”

“No,” she replied steadily. “Like a lot of shock victims, he bit his tongue when he hit the ground. Open his mouth. You’ll see.”

Blaise cast a suspicious glance at her and then Theodore, then turned to open Draco’s mouth. Sure enough, the blood that had been coming from his mouth had saturated a white cloth wrapped around his tongue.

“What’s that?” Blaise asked, pointing at the rag.

“Part of my shirt,” Hermione answered, indicating a tear at the hem of her blouse. “I used it as a tourniquet to stop the bleeding.”

“And when was that?”

“I finished it just before you two came down. He had lost a lot of blood already.”

“But you –”

“Blaise,” Theodore broke in. “Just leave it. She might have saved his life.”

Blaise glared at him but didn’t say any more.

Hermione eyed him a moment longer before speaking. “I don’t know what caused the shock, though. I’ve been in the house with him the whole time, and I don’t think anyone could get in. Even if they did, I would have heard the commotion.”

“Has Draco been acting strange lately?” Blaise asked. “Has he acted suicidal or reckless or given any indication that he could be sick?”

Hermione shook her head. “I… I haven’t seen him in a few days, so I don’t know for sure, but last time I saw him, he was in normal condition.”

Blaise narrowed his eyes to slits. “What do you mean, you haven’t seen him in a few days? You live with him, Granger! How do you live with a person and not see them for a few days!”

Hermione bit her lip nervously, trying not to sound shaky. “Well… we had an argument. We had an argument, and I told him to leave me alone. I’ve been in my room for the last few days –”

“How many days?” Blaise demanded.

“Four days.”

Blaise’s mouth dropped open, and Theodore gawked at her. “Four days?” Theodore repeated. “It’s been four days since you saw Draco?”

Hermione swallowed hard. “Yes, it’s been four days.”

“So Draco could have been lying in the basement for almost a week,” Blaise ground out, “while you sat in your room with your nose in a book?”

Hermione frowned at him. “I had a right. It’s not as if he runs my life.”

“You’re his slave!”

“Not by my own choice! I’m here because I have to be. Malfoy doesn’t force me to do anything, and I still had the right to stay in my room if I wanted to. I came out by my own free will, and if I hadn’t, who knows what might have happened?”

Theodore furrowed his eyebrows together in thought. “If you haven’t seen him in four days, how do you know he hadn’t been lying there the whole time?”

“I’d say it happened today. I thought I heard him moving around yesterday, and he probably would have been dead if he had been bleeding all night. My guess is that he wouldn’t have lived much longer if I hadn’t come down when I did.”

“What do want, a thank you?” Blaise sneered.

Hermione glared at him. “A little more trust would be appreciated.”

“Why should we trust you? Not only are you a blood traitor, but you’re the only person who could possibly have hurt Draco like this. Don’t expect a thank you, Granger, because you’re not getting one.”

Theodore cleared his throat. “Blaise, calm down. There could always be another explanation.”

Blaise set his jaw stubbornly, turning to stare at the wall. “I’m going to get him some water. I’ll be right back.”

Hermione and Theodore watched him go, then Theodore turned to face Hermione, a serious look on his face. “Granger,” he said carefully, “did you do something to Draco?”

“No,” Hermione replied firmly. “I told you before, Nott, I found him like that.”

Theodore twisted his mouth to the side, then nodded. “All right. I’ll believe you. I’ll do what I can to convince Blaise, too.”

Hermione nodded her thanks. “Could Voldemort have done this?”

Theodore raised his eyebrows in surprise. “What makes you think that?”

“I don’t know,” Hermione shrugged. “It was just a thought. Draco’s Dark Mark was glowing when I first saw him, and his scars looked like they were about to pop off his face. It just looked like some sort of magical infirmity to me.”

“It’s an interesting thought,” Theodore mused. “I doubt Voldemort is behind it, but you never know.” Theodore’s green eyes suddenly met Hermione’s, and he spoke more softly, making Hermione lean in to listen. “Granger, how much do you know about Draco’s curse and his life before it?”

Hermione looked down at the floor, not knowing how much she could say. “Well,” she stammered, “I don’t know much. Narcissa told me about the curse itself and how it works, and Draco has… mentioned some things here and there. I didn’t know anything about the curse until Narcissa bought me, so I don’t know anything outside of what they’ve told me.”

Theodore nodded thoughtfully. “So you don’t know why Voldemort cursed him?”

Hermione swallowed again, trying to decide whether she could trust Theodore or not. “Well, I…”

She was saved by Blaise, who strode into the room with a glass of water in one hand and a washcloth in the other. “I may not know much about medicine, but I do know –” He stopped short as he noticed Theodore backing up from Hermione. “Theodore,” he said, “I swear on Merlin’s grave, if you were trying to seduce Granger right now –”

“Of course not,” Theodore replied quickly. “I was just trying to get a little more information. Besides, I look for any opportunity to get close to Granger,” he added with a wink at Hermione.

She merely rolled her eyes. “Forget about it, Nott.”

Blaise set the glass and washcloth on the little table next to Draco’s bed and turned to face Hermione. “Granger,” he began, “what were you and Draco fighting about?”

Hermione felt her throat get tighter. It seemed that she was going to have to either trust them or make up a lie. Neither option was desirable. “I don’t think it’s any of your business,” she said bluntly, earning a glare from Blaise and a smirk from Theodore. “Besides, it has nothing to do with any of this. The fight was four days ago, and you can ask Draco when he wakes up if you want to know so badly.”

Blaise frowned. “You really are a persnickety little bint, aren’t you?” He sighed. “I guess it doesn’t matter, though. Theodore, why don’t you go downstairs and see if you can find anything around the desk that might tell us what happened.”

Theodore glanced at Hermione, then nodded and headed for the door. When he was gone, Hermione fixed her eyes on Blaise and asked, “What’s the laboratory for?”

Blaise gave her an unreadable look. “What do you mean?”

“The basement. What does Draco do down there?”

“You mean, you don’t know?” he asked, eyes wide.

Hermione shook her head. “It was the first time I’ve ever been down there.”

Blaise leaned against the bedpost, giving Hermione a guarded yet curious stare. “Look, Granger, I can’t imagine what you and Draco must do all day, but if he hasn’t told you, there must be a reason.”

Hermione shook her head. “He might have, but I got angry with him before he could explain.”

“Explain what?” Blaise pressed. “Granger, you’re leaving out a lot of this story. The more you tell me, the better we’ll understand what’s going on.”

“I’m not telling you,” she said stubbornly. “You don’t need to know.”

“Then you don’t need to know about the laboratory!”

Hermione huffed an impatient sigh, crossing her arms and turning away from Blaise. He didn’t say anything, just looked at her curiously. Though Hermione couldn’t see him, she could imagine the wheels turning in his head. She could imagine that his unasked questions were burning him up inside as badly as hers were doing to her.

Finally, Blaise broke the silence. “Granger,” he said calmly, all traces of his former anger gone. “Where did you come from?”

Hermione raised her eyes to watch him carefully. She had absolutely no reason to trust Blaise, especially after the way he had lashed out at her. He was a Ministry employee and a minion of Voldemort, making him and enemy to the Order and everything it stood for.

“Why should I tell you, Zabini?” Hermione queried, sounding more tired than angry.

Blaise shrugged. “There’s a mole in the Ministry. It’s thrown quite a scare into everyone. Seven years is long enough for the survivors of Voldemort’s bloodbath to band together and start a rebellion. I don’t know for sure, but I’d say you’re a big part of that rebellion – if it exists. You’re the last of the Golden Trio. You must know everything that goes on behind Voldemort’s back.” Blaise stood, slowly walking toward Hermione. When she didn’t back away, he stopped and continued talking. “I don’t know how you ended up in a slave market, Granger, but there’s got to be a reason. You’ve been assumed dead for years, and as much as I’m dying to ask how you’ve made it this long, I know you won’t tell me, so I won’t ask. I’ll just say this: if you really are part of a new Order and you really didn’t try to kill Draco, then the four of us need to sit down and talk sometime. I think that could be an interesting conversation.”

Hermione didn’t know what to say. Blaise’s gaze lingered on her a moment longer, then he backed off and started tending to Draco. Hermione simply watched him.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“You don’t really think Granger hurt Draco, do you?”

Theodore’s question hung in the air for a moment as he and Blaise walked out of Draco’s house and into the streets ahead. The night air was chilly, an indicator that the winter was approaching quickly. “No,” Blaise replied. “I don’t, but I don’t want her to start thinking she can get away with anything, either. We’ve got to watch her. You never know what she might do.”

“I think she’s trustworthy,” Theodore said with a shrug.

“Pretty doesn’t always equal trustworthy,” Blaise reminded him.

Theodore smiled. “I know. It’s more than that, though. I think she really does care about Draco to a certain degree, and I don’t think she’d hurt him unless he tried to hurt her. And I think we both know he didn’t do that.”

“Yeah. It still bothers me the way she skirted around talking about their fight. Something important happened, and I need to know what it was.”

“Why?” Theodore asked.

“I don’t know,” Blaise shrugged. “It’s just that Draco’s our friend, and I wish he didn’t have to fight all these battles alone. I wish we could help him somehow.”

“He’s got Granger now.”

“Yeah,” Blaise said. “I know. Still, I feel like a pretty sorry excuse for a friend.”

“Then don’t think about it,” Theodore said cheerfully. “Anyway, what do you think caused the shock?”

Blaise shook his head. “I have no idea. It would have had to have been something major, and Granger honestly seemed not to know what had happened.” He suddenly brightened, stopping and turning to look at Theodore. “You found something in the basement, didn’t you?”

Theodore grinned. “You know me too well, Zabini.”

“Well, what was it?”

“This.” Theodore reached into a pocket of his robes and produced a paper, rolled up tightly. He handed it to Blaise, who carefully unrolled it.

“Theodore,” Blaise said in confusion, “this is the floorplan of Draco’s house. What’s so important about that?”

Theodore pointed at a corner of the paper. “Touch that spot right there.”

Blaise gave his friend a suspicious look, but did as he said. As soon as his fingers touched the paper, Blaise felt dizzy and noticed that the world around him was suddenly spinning. In a few seconds, he was standing in another place, staring at the burned remains of a once-beautiful mansion. _Grimmauld Place,_ he realized.

In a few seconds, Blaise had Apparated back to where Theodore was standing, on the darkened street in front of Draco’s house.

“Well?” Theodore asked.

“Grimmauld Place,” Blaise said. “It’s a portkey to Grimmauld Place. Where Draco Malfoy was discovered having a secret meeting with someone believed to be a part of the new Order.”

Theodore nodded. “Exactly, old buddy. And if my guess is correct, Grimmauld Place is where we might find our mole. And maybe the Order along with it.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Hermione sat in a chair next to Draco’s bed, her elbow propped onto the table beside her and her head resting on her hand. Blaise and Theodore had finally left, and she felt mentally exhausted. Blaise had quizzed her for nearly an hour on any possible way that Draco could have been injured, but they had come up with no answers. After making sure Draco was stabilized and instructing Hermione on what to do in case of an emergency, Blaise and Theodore had gone home, leaving Hermione alone with Draco once again.

Hermione took the opportunity to study Draco’s face as he slept. The terrible chalkiness that had permeated his scars earlier had faded, leaving them a dull white color. _Funny,_ Hermione thought. _I hardly even notice the scars anymore._ Narcissa had told her that she would get used to them, but Hermione hadn’t believed her.

Sitting by Draco’s bedside gave Hermione time to think about all the things Blaise and Theodore had said. She mulled over their words for nearly an hour before suddenly noticing that Draco’s eyes were no longer closed.

She stood, moving to sit on the edge of Draco’s bed and place her hand on his forehead. “How do you feel?” she asked quietly.

Draco merely stared at her, his milky eyes betraying his pain as he tried to speak. “Like I just woke up from the dead,” he rasped, barely loud enough for her to hear.

“What happened?” she asked.

Draco shook his head slightly. “I don’t know. One minute, I was standing by my desk, and the next I was falling. I could hear your voice. I heard other voices, too. Were Zabini and Nott here?”

Hermione nodded. “They left about an hour ago.”

“Did they treat you all right?” Draco asked suddenly. “I know they’re usually all right, but if I wasn’t there –”

“It was fine,” Hermione assured him. “It’s a good thing they came by. I would never have gotten you up the stairs by myself.”

Draco’s eyes suddenly widened. “You mean… you’ve been in the basement?”

“Yeah,” she admitted. “I’m sorry, I just wanted to talk to you.”

Draco swallowed, his eyes clouding with worry. “I didn’t want you to come down there.”

“Well, the fact is that I did. And I probably saved your life, so don’t be so crabby about it.”

Draco managed a small smile. “All right. What did you want to talk about?”

Hermione took a deep breath. Here it was. “Well…” She impulsively reached forward and took one of his hands in both of hers. “Malfoy – that is, Draco – I wanted to tell you I’m sorry for lashing out the other day and not listening to you. I was scared and angry and confused, and I didn’t know what to think. And I just wanted you to know…” She cleared her throat and looked him straight in the eye. “I wanted you to know that I believe you, and I’m ready to listen to what you have to say.”


	9. Barely Even Friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Friends! I'm really excited about this chapter, because you're about to get some BIG revelations (but don't worry, there are still more to come :) I really hope you all enjoy this chapter. You're the reasons I write :) As always, read, review, and enjoy, my friends!

Draco was silent for a long moment, regarding Hermione with curious eyes. She tried to ignore the lump growing in her throat and hoped Draco couldn’t feel how sweaty her palms were getting. If he noticed, he didn’t let on.

“What do you believe?” he finally asked.

“I believe what you told me six days ago when I woke up from the portkey incident. About your connection with the Order and betraying the Death Eaters and all that.” She took a deep breath. “I don’t have any clue how it’s possible or why you would do it or why I never heard about it. I’ve got a million questions, but I just want you to know that I’ll take what you said at face value and believe what you tell me.”

Hermione expected Draco to give her a confused or even grateful look, but instead he narrowed his eyes and spoke suspiciously. “And why’s that, Granger? You’ve been here for a couple of months, and not once have you showed a single bit of trust for me. What happened while I was out? Did Blaise or Theodore say something?”

Hermione shook her head. “They were tight-lipped as always. I’ve just… well, I’ve had four days to sit by myself and think about what you’ve said, and as strange as it is, I can’t think of a single reason you might be lying to me. I’ve gone over everything you’ve said, everything your mother and your friends have said, even what I knew before I was brought here, and nothing actually contradicts your story. I’m willing to listen if you want to talk. You seemed pretty anxious to get it out earlier. If you don’t want to talk or you need time to think, that’s fine, too. I understand.”

She started to move away, but Draco tightened his grip on her hand and pulled her back. His voice held a note of desperation as he said, “Are you joking?”

“No,” she replied honestly. “I’m through playing games.”

Draco’s eyes were wide in wonder, and he swallowed hard as he thought. Hermione turned her head to look at the floor, and Draco finally spoke. “All right, Granger. All right. I’ll go out on a limb and trust you. I guess you’ve done the same for me.” He let go of her hand and pushed himself into a sitting position, Hermione moving to sit back in her chair by his bedside.

“Seven years ago,” Draco said, “I was one of Voldemort’s best and most trusted Death Eaters. With Bellatrix dead and my father reduced to nothing but a drunk, I stepped up as the Black-Malfoy companion to Voldemort. It wasn’t long before I became his right-hand man, even closer than Snape or Bellatrix had been. Voldemort trusted me with everything, and that’s how I started to see through him. I’d had my doubts even before the Battle of Hogwarts, but I was too scared to betray Voldemort. When he won the war, I thought the safest thing to do would be to just play along and let him use me like a puppet. At least I’d stay alive that way.

“But it wasn’t long after the War was over that I realized I couldn’t live like that.” His voice grew hesitant. “Hermione, I can’t tell you how horrible it was to have to execute my old classmates, to watch my teachers and friends and even enemies killed. I think it was McGonagall that broke me. I didn’t kill her myself, but I was up on the platform when Voldemort performed the execution. She just kept looking at me with this disappointed but… almost determined expression, and that’s when I knew I couldn’t do it anymore. I went home that night and cried for hours. I even tried to commit suicide, but of course I couldn’t.”

“Why not?” Hermione asked.

Draco’s eyes widened in surprise. “Oh, that’s right. I haven’t told you that part yet. I’ll get to it.” He cleared his throat. “Anyway, that was when I decided to do something about myself. I started trying to find out as much as I could about who all had been killed and who might be alive. I was surprised by how much of the Order hadn’t been caught. Zacharias Smith was the only one I could find who was killed. Is that right?”

“And Alicia Spinnet,” Hermione corrected him. “Lavender Brown. Justin Finch-Fletchley. Colin Creevey. Fred, Ginny, Bill, Percy, and Charlie Weasley. Arthur and Molly. All the Hogwarts teachers except Sprout. Lupin, Tonks, Shacklebolt, and of course Harry and Ron.”

Draco didn’t say anything for a moment, just stared at his hands. “Merlin, I… I forgot how many it was.”

“It could have been a lot more,” Hermione said. “You’d be surprised how many are still alive.”

“Right,” he said. “Well, that’s a lot more than I remembered, but it’s still not nearly as many as I had feared it was. Once I – oh, I meant to ask you,” he interrupted himself, giving her a curious look. “Blaise asked you a few weeks ago, but how did your name get on the list of those killed? My mother told me when the news broke that you had been killed a few years ago. How did that happen?”

Hermione shrugged. “One of the survivors was out on a mission and found a Muggleborn girl who looked a little like me who was already dead. Parvati just transfigured the girl’s features to look like mine, and whoever found her thought it was me. I’ve had it a lot easier since then, not having to worry about being recognized as much as the others. No one expects to see Hermione Granger walking the streets.”

“Well, I nearly had a heart attack when Mum brought you home,” Draco added. “I still can’t believe she didn’t recognize you.”

“She had no reason to. Everyone thinks I’m Amelia Finberry.”

Draco frowned. “While we’re on the topic, who is Amelia Finberry anyway?”

“Some poor Muggleborn who’s been on the run for a long time. She’ll probably catch a break now that everyone thinks she’s been captured.”

“So, how did the mix-up happen?”

Hermione gave a half-laugh as she began her story, leaving out the names and locations of the Order, as well as Dennis Creevey. She still had her doubts about telling Draco everything at once. When she got to the part about Augustus Sparrow revealing her disguise only to mistake her for someone else, Draco laughed out loud.

“Old Sparrow never could do anything right,” he chuckled. “It just figures that he’d find the Wizarding World’s most wanted and mistake her for a common runaway!”

Hermione smiled. “It is pretty ironic. And that’s how it happened. Sparrow put me up for sale and your mother came by that afternoon and bought me.”

Draco shook his head. “I still can’t figure out why she was there in the first place. I mean, she had been here that morning and didn’t say a thing about looking for a slave.”

“I don’t know,” Hermione shrugged. “We ran into Nott’s mother on the way from the market, and she’s a right dragon.”

“That she is,” Draco agreed. “It’s people like her that make me glad I’m stuck in this house.”

Hermione managed a laugh at that. “Anyway, back to your story. You started looking for survivors?”

“Yeah,” he said, picking up where he left off. “I went through all the Ministry’s old lists of executions and prison inmates. When I realized how few of you had actually been caught or killed, I decided to try to figure out what had happened to all of you. It was a lot harder than I thought it would be, mainly because you’re all so good at staying hidden. Once, I found a record that said Padma Patil was a slave, owned by somebody named Owens? Is that right?”

Hermione hesitated a moment, but pushed on anyway. “Cecil and Margaret Owens. A half-blood couple. I was on the mission that rescued her.”

“I remember,” Draco remarked. At Hermione’s surprised look, he added, “I was there the night you rescued her. It was you, one of the Weasley twins, and Dean Thomas.”

“How did you know it was us?” Hermione asked. “Why were you there at the same time we were? And how did we not know you were there?”

Draco gave her a sheepish smile. “Well, first, I was spying from pretty close range. I guess you don’t know this, but once Potter was dead, I got his Invisibility Cloak.”

“What?!”

“Yeah. Of course, I don’t have it anymore, but I used it that night to get in unnoticed. I wasn’t necessarily going to get Padma out that night, but I was definitely thinking about it and scouting out the manor for ideas. I knew the Owenses were out for the evening, so when I heard you all coming in, I watched you from the Invisibility Cloak and saw you first. I recognized Weasley and Thomas eventually, but I knew you right off. It took all I could do not to reveal myself.”

“Why’s that?” Hermione asked curiously.

“Because I realized that my suspicions had been correct,” he replied, his eyes blazing with new vigor as he recounted a story that had obviously changed his life. “When I saw you and Weasley and Thomas, I followed you to where Padma was, and I heard you tell her that you were from the Order and that you were there to rescue her. When you Apparated away, I didn’t dare follow, but I had all I needed to know what I had to do. I started putting the pieces together from there: how Padma’s records had just become available in the Ministry and how you had showed up at the same time that I did. I knew it couldn’t be a coincidence, and that’s when I realized there had to be a mole in the Ministry, some sort of Order spy that was tipping them off on how to find other Order members. I did some research and noticed that three other slaves and one political prisoner had ‘escaped,’ and that just confirmed it. The spy in the Ministry – it’s Katie Bell, isn’t it?”

Hermione narrowed her eyes, trying not to sound too suspicious. “I… don’t know that I should say.”

“You don’t have to,” he said excitedly. “She did. When I realized she was the only one it could be, I confronted her about it and got the truth. That’s how she hooked me up with Dennis and I –”

“Wait, wait, wait!” Hermione couldn’t believe her ears. “Dennis?! As in, Dennis Creevey?”

Draco nodded. “Yeah, Dennis Creevey. He was my contact.”

“Your contact?” Hermione echoed. Was it even possible? Could fate really be this kind to her? “Draco,” she said, forcing her voice to be steady, “where is Dennis now?”

His delighted expression fell, and he swallowed hard. “I have no idea. After I got caught having a meeting with him, he disappeared with the Invisibility Cloak, and I haven’t heard from him since. I don’t dare ask about him. If he’s still out there, I don’t want to endanger him by letting the world know he was my contact.”

“I cannot believe this,” Hermione said, jumping to her feet and beginning to pace the room in frantic excitement. “Dennis Creevey was your contact in trying to defeat Voldemort. He’s the mysterious contact. He has the Invisibility Cloak. He’s been part of the underground movement all along!”

Draco swung his feet off the bed and stood, coming to stand in front of Hermione. “Granger, what are you talking about? What’s the connection?”

Hermione couldn’t suppress a joyful laugh as she spoke. “We’ve always known there was an underground movement. We didn’t know who was a part of it or what they were planning, but we’ve always hoped we could somehow locate them one day and join forces. If we could do that, the possibilities to defeat Voldemort and his Death Eaters once and for all would be limitless. But we had no idea Dennis was part of that movement!”

Draco gave her a puzzled but eager look. “Hermione… Dennis _leads_ that movement.”

Hermione had nothing to say to that. Her eyes huge, she dropped back into her chair with her hands over her mouth. Draco knelt in front of the chair. “Hermione,” he said earnestly, “what do you know about Dennis? What’s going on?”

Hermione shook her head, unable to even think clearly as the implications of Draco’s statement rang through her mind. _Dennis Creevey was the leader of the underground movement._

Finally, she gathered her thoughts and words and managed to speak coherently. “I… finding Dennis has always been one of our top priorities. He was declared dead last year because of a lack of evidence that he was alive, but his name never appeared on any execution lists; besides, every now and then, some little shred of proof that he’s alive will pop up. He’s one of the last living Hogwarts students who hasn’t been recruited for Voldemort and who hasn’t joined the Order yet. We never knew why he didn’t come to join us or even contact us, but now I get it. He’s been working to help us, just in a different way. I can’t believe this!” She turned her stare on Draco, who was watching her carefully. “He’s the reason I’m here, Draco. I saw him in a slave market and went to find him. That’s why I got caught; I’ve been looking for Dennis Creevey.”

“Dennis in a slave market?” Draco repeated, eyebrows knitting in concern. “Has he been freed?”

Hermione shrugged helplessly. “I have no idea. I didn’t even get a message to the Order before they took my wand. I have no clue what’s happened since I’ve been gone.”

Draco frowned. “If only there was some way to get in touch with them.”

Hermione thought for a moment, then said cautiously, “What about Zabini and Nott?”

“What about them?”

“What if they could get a message to the Order?” she asked. “I hate the idea, but judging by some things they said earlier, I think they might be on our side.”

“They are,” Draco confirmed. “They never helped me and Dennis, but they never turned us in, either, even though they knew what we were doing. They’ve become disillusioned with Voldemort as much as I have, and I know they’d help us.”

“So you think they’re trustworthy?” Hermione ventured.

Draco shrugged. “Probably. They can be right gits, but they’re like my brothers. The question is, do you trust them enough to tell them about the Order and its location?”

Hermione bit her lip nervously. “I don’t know. It was just an idea. I’ll have to think about it.”

“All right,” he replied.

She took a deep breath and gave Draco a small smile. “So, Katie Bell?”

“Oh, yeah,” he said, as if he had forgotten about telling his story. “Katie and Dennis and I worked together for a while before Katie decided it would be best if we broke off contact from her. We knew she was in touch with the Order, but she wouldn’t give us any details about it just in case something slipped out.”

“Why didn’t she tell us about you?” Hermione wondered out loud.

Draco shrugged dismissively. “I asked her not to. I didn’t think it was a good idea for any more people than necessary to know. Considering what happened with the curse, it was probably for the best.”

“Is that why you joined the underground movement instead of seeking out the Order?”

“No,” he said. “I… I knew a Death Eater and former classmate would never be accepted into the Order, and I thought it would be easier to join Dennis’ group. Even then, only two or three of them knew I was their contact, but I was just too afraid to risk it with the Order.”

“I would say you should have come anyway,” Hermione remarked, “but I understand your point of view. I might have been more understanding, but some of the others wouldn’t have been.”

Draco nodded. “If there was one person in the Order I would have trusted, it would have been you.” Hermione seemed surprised by that answer, so Draco pushed on. “I was pretty upset when the news broke that you had been killed. I didn’t think I’d ever hear that, and it was hard to take.”

Hermione didn’t know what to say to that, so she simply changed the subject. “You said something earlier about using Portkeys to stay undetected.”

Draco snapped out of his odd daze and began pacing in front of her. “Yeah. Dennis’ people had some Portkeys, and he had me make one so I could stay undetected when I met Dennis. We decided on Grimmauld Place because it was abandoned and no one would suspect it as a meeting place. I used that corner of my floorplan as a Portkey and kept it hidden in my basement. I used that Portkey for nearly a year before I got caught.”

“So how did that happen?”

Draco sighed and perched himself on the edge of the bed, his eyes boring into the floor as he recalled the memory. “It was in September. Dennis and I always met at eleven o’clock in the backyard of Grimmauld Place. I would give him updates on the Ministry and how he could rescue more people, and he would bring me the potions ingredients I needed.”

“Potions ingredients?” Hermione asked.

“Oh, I forgot to tell you about that,” he said, smiling to himself. “I’m a potions maker now. That’s what’s in the basement. The underground uses potions for most everything they do, and I supply them with it.”

“How can you do that if you’re trapped here and they can’t come in?”

“Simple,” he grinned. “I realized early on that even though people can’t go in and out, objects can. I just package the potions up and sneak them out a trapdoor upstairs. Whoever comes to collect the potions uses _Accio_ to get them. It’s the only way I can still help them.”

“Does your mother know about this?” Hermione asked. “Is she helping you?”

Draco shook his head. “No. She knew a little about what I was doing before the curse, but I didn’t dare get her involved. She has no idea that I’m still in contact with anyone, mainly for her own protection. She has a lot of ties to the Ministry, after all. If I ever get found out, I don’t want her affected.”

Hermione nodded. “Anyway, sorry I keep interrupting.”

“No, no, they’re good questions,” Draco said quickly. “Anyway, that night, Dennis and I met at our usual time and traded information and potions. It was a freak thing, really. A Death Eater and his mistress met up there for a secret rendezvous and saw me and Dennis. Of course, he recognized me right away and petrified me. But he didn’t get Dennis, thank God. I managed to toss him the Invisibility Cloak before he Apparated away.”

“He didn’t stay to help you?” Hermione asked incredulously.

“He’s the leader of an underground movement, Granger,” Draco said. “He can’t risk being caught, for everyone’s sake. I wouldn’t have expected him to stay.”

“It still seems like he could have helped you somehow,” she said, sounding put out.

Draco cracked a smile. “Feeling sorry for me now, eh, Granger?”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Just get on with the story, Malfoy.”

Draco shrugged and looked at the floor. “There isn’t much else to tell, really. I was turned in to Voldemort and sentenced to be trapped in this manor for as long as I live, with no magic and no contact with the outside world. Voldemort finally allowed my mum to come and visit me, and Blaise and Theodore have been coming for a little over a year now. I was on the verge of giving up before Mum started coming. Even though I was helping Dennis still, I was lonely and discouraged and even suicidal.”

Hermione pressed her lips together in thought. “Draco, there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you. Why didn’t Voldemort kill you? I mean, I’m glad he didn’t, but he usually just annihilates his enemies as a show of power. Why trap you here alive? Why not kill you and make you an example?”

Draco’s eyes darted around the room, and he suddenly looked nervous. His voice sounded weak when he said, “I, uh… I always kind of thought maybe he… wanted to drive me crazy. You know, trap me alone in my own home, turn it into a prison. What better way to get revenge on your enemy, right?”

Hermione narrowed her eyes and stood, facing him squarely from his seat on the edge of the bed. “That’s not true, is it? You don’t want to tell me.”

Draco started to say something in his defense, but he appeared to change his mind. He sighed and looked away from Hermione’s intense gaze. “It’s not something you need to know, Hermione. Just trust me, okay?”

Hermione eyed him a moment longer, trying to decide what to do. She was dying to know the answer, but he had already told her so much, and she would hate to end their first civil – even friendly – conversation in an argument.

“All right,” she said in an even tone. “Another time, yeah?”

Draco looked up at her, obviously relieved. “Sure. Another time.”

Hermione gave him a small smile as she moved away from the bed and toward the door. “Why don’t you get some rest? I can make dinner and bring it up if you want.”

“No, I’ll come down,” Draco said. “Thanks.”

Hermione nodded. As she closed the door and headed down the stairs, she wondered what she had gotten herself into. The new information she had just received would take her hours to sort through. She could hardly even wrap her mind around what Draco had just told her, and now she needed to come up with a list of new questions to ask him at dinner. By Godric, she wasn’t going to let anything get in her way now.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Cho Chang sighed for what seemed like the hundredth time. Setting her quill down, she rubbed her bleary eyes and leaned back in her chair, thoughts running through her tired mind like so many freight trains.

She had been so sure that Katie Bell was talking about Luna’s house. ‘Rook’ wasn’t a particularly common word, and for Katie to use it in such a confident way, as if she knew someone in the Order would know what she meant, had convinced Cho that they had finally made progress.

But nothing had happened. Neville had sent Cho, Luna, Michael Corner, Romilda Vane, and Nigel Wolpert to the old Lovegood house, and they had waited for nearly eight hours in the freezing November night until Neville told them to come back to the Fortress. Cho couldn’t ever remember being so disappointed.

Quiet footsteps on the stairs leading to Cho’s attic made her sit up and look toward the attic door. She did most of her work up there, as it was quiet and she was rarely disturbed. She couldn’t help but smile when she saw a wild nest of red hair, followed by a freckled face and a mischievous smile.

“Burning the midnight oil again, eh, Chang?” George asked, walking toward Cho’s desk and pulling up a dusty old chair to sit next to her. “Or are you writing love letters to some old wizard?”

Cho rolled her eyes and pushed her chair away from the desk. “Just reading through Katie’s old messages.” She sighed, not caring that her frustration showed. “It doesn’t make sense. The message she sent us Monday matches all the old ones perfectly. I can’t understand why she didn’t show up.”

George shrugged. “All kinds of things can happen. Maybe Katie was in danger of being caught if she left and didn’t know she would be when she wrote that message.”

“Still,” Cho continued, “it’s not like Katie to do something hasty. She’s never asked us to meet her before, so I think she would have made doubly sure that she could come.”

“Hmm,” George replied. “What about that part about the subject? Do you think she’s talking about Dennis or Hermione?”

“She doesn’t know about Hermione,” Cho explained. “I didn’t dare send her a message for Hermione’s safety. If she knows, it’s because someone there has told her, and that would mean everyone knows where Hermione is. No, Dennis is the only one we’ve talked about in our letters, and I specifically asked her to look for Dennis in my last message.” She shook her head resolutely. “Katie was talking about Dennis. She obviously knows where he is but couldn’t disclose it in the message.”

“Smart,” George remarked. Letting out a deep sigh, he leaned his chin on his forearms on the top of the chair. He was quiet for several minutes, watching Cho shuffle through her old files, before he spoke. “Do you think she’s still alive, Cho?”

Cho didn’t have to ask who he meant. “I don’t know, George. I hope so.”

“Me, too.”

They were both silent for a short time, but this time it was Cho who broke the silence. “What are you doing up, George? It’s after midnight.”

Raising his eyes, George twisted his mouth to the side and shrugged. “I don’t know. Couldn’t sleep, I guess.”

Cho nodded. “Maybe you should try again.”

“Yeah.” George sighed again and stood up, swinging the chair back to its original place. “Guess I just needed someone to talk to. It’s lonely without Hermione around here.”

Cho gave him a curious look. “George… are you in love with Hermione?”

George didn’t answer for a long time, just stared straight ahead, looking into a place Cho couldn’t see. “I don’t know.” He looked back at her, almost as if he had never even considered the thought. “No. No, she’s… she’s almost like my last sister. She’s my best friend. I just… I just miss her.” He furrowed his brow as he looked at the floor. “It’s a confusing time.”

Cho nodded again. “Yeah.” A moment later, she said, “George? If Hermione ever comes back, and I think she will… I think we should let her know how much she means to all of us.”

George regarded Cho a moment longer, lost in his thoughts. “We should,” he said softly. “’Night, Cho.”

“Goodnight, George.” Cho watched him leave, then dropped her files into their drawer and blew out her candle. George was right. It was a confusing time. A confusing time, indeed.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“So where is the Order base anyway?”

Hermione paused a moment, setting the saltshaker down on the table at Draco’s question. They were having dinner in the kitchen, a meal of canned soup and toasted bread between them. Their conversation so far had been genial and uneventful, and this was the first time either of them had brought up their earlier conversation. Taking a deep breath, Hermione decided to tell him. After all, what more damage could it do?

“Northern Ireland,” Hermione said evenly. “Lee Jordan inherited a mansion there from his uncle, and that’s where we are. We call it the Fortress.”

“The Fortress,” Draco repeated. “That’s rather unclever, Granger. I’d have expected more from the brightest witch of her age.”

“Well, don’t look at me. I’m not the one who made it up.”

Draco laughed, a genuine laugh, and Hermione found herself smiling as well. Their dynamic was light and easy, even friendly. Who would have ever thought they could be friends?

Draco coughed as he took another bite of the soup. “What’s in this, Granger? Are you trying to poison me?”

She snickered. “Don’t ask me. It’s from your cupboard.”

“We can blame that on my mother, then,” he said. “She brings food by once a month or so.”

“You’d think someone from the proud house of Malfoy would bring something a little less…” Hermione trailed off.

“Gruesome?” Draco suggested. “Unappetizing? Brain-liquidizing?”

Hermione shook her head and laughed again. “Something like that.”

“Yeah, you’d think so,” he agreed. “But I get by on it. It’s better than starving, by some margin.”

Hermione was about to reply when the front door of the house slammed open, echoing through the stone walls and filling the rooms with a gust of cold wind. Draco jumped to his feet and signaled for Hermione to stay in the kitchen.

“Draco!” Hermione heard Narcissa shout.

“Mum, what’s wrong?” came Draco’s voice. Hermione stepped closer to the kitchen entrance so she could hear better.

“Voldemort has been critically wounded,” Narcissa said, desperation tinging her voice. “Someone poisoned him this afternoon, and he’s still suffering from the effects.”

“Will he live?” Draco’s voice sounded harsh.

“Yes, thank God. The healers have been working nonstop to get him stable. He’s at St. Mungo’s right now. I would have come sooner, but I was at the Ministry at the time, and no one was allowed to leave the building until a few minutes ago. Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” Draco said quietly. Hermione strained to hear his next words, but his voice was too hushed to make anything out.

A moment later, Narcissa, just loud enough for Hermione to hear, asked, “Where is she?”

Draco mumbled something that sounded like ‘the kitchen,’ and Hermione instinctively backed up when she heard Narcissa’s heels sharply clacking across the entry hall floor. Narcissa strode into the kitchen a moment later, Draco only a few paces behind her.

“Amelia Finberry,” the older woman stated. “Were you listening?”

Hermione raised her chin. “I heard.”

Narcissa looked Hermione up and down, gauging her next words. Finally, she waved her hand dismissively. “Leave us, please. I have some serious matters that I would like to talk over with my son. Alone.”

Hermione took the hint. Narcissa was being unusually condescending, but Hermione didn’t let that bother her. Steeling her nerves, Hermione leaned down, picked up her bowl and water glass, and walked out of the kitchen, raising an eyebrow at Draco as she passed him. He didn’t respond, just watched her go. A moment later, Hermione’s bedroom door closed sharply. It didn’t slam, but it definitely closed sharply.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It had been quite a day. Sitting alone in her bedroom and eating her soup gave Hermione time to process the day’s events. Only that morning, she had been locked in that very room, determined to wait Draco out and hold her ground. Within six hours, she had come out of her room, found Draco’s laboratory, saved his life, formed an unlikely truce with Zabini and Nott, and had dinner with Draco. Hermione briefly wondered if it were all a dream.

But she didn’t let herself wonder too much. As thought-provoking as their odd little relationship was, Hermione moved on to more pressing matters, such as what it was that Draco wouldn’t tell her. Yes, he had revealed most of his past and even been honest about his horrible deeds, but there was still one little piece, one missing link that threw everything just slightly off center, one little detail that would make everything fall into place if she could figure it out. And Hermione prided herself on figuring things out.

Tearing a blank sheet of paper out of the back of one of her spell books, Hermione set to work writing down everything she had learned so far. She wrote out a timeline based on information she had gleaned from Draco, Narcissa, and Blaise and Theodore, then created another smaller one that detailed Dennis’ backstory. To her interest, everything fit perfectly with what she had known before her capture. If Draco was making this up, he had mastered the art of deception.

But Hermione no longer thought he was lying to her. Even if there were a few things he didn’t want to tell her – things that involved suicide, Voldemort, and Draco’s imprisonment – Hermione was confident that, with a little more time, she could crack the code and unravel the mystery. All she had to do was wait, and Hermione was a pro at waiting.

About an hour later, Hermione folded up her paper and tucked it in the back of the spell book for safekeeping. Setting her bowl and glass on her nightstand, Hermione was about to turn out the lamp and climb into bed when she heard shuffling footsteps coming down the hallway toward her room.

A soft knock on the door, then a very quiet, “Hermione?”

“Yes?” she replied, not moving from her spot.

“I, uh… I’m sorry about Mum. She was just worried about me and wasn’t thinking about what she said. I’m sorry she was so rude.”

Hermione smiled to herself. “If that’s the worst treatment I get here, I think I’ll survive.”

Draco was silent for several moments, and Hermione began to wonder if he had walked away. She was about to start for the door when he spoke again. “Did you want to talk any more?”

It was Hermione’s turn to be quiet as she thought. Though she would have loved to find out more about Voldemort’s situation, there wasn’t any reason she couldn’t ask those same questions tomorrow. Besides, she was bone-weary from all the stress and excitement. “No. Let’s talk to tomorrow,” she said simply.

Another short pause. “That’s fine. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” she called softly. Sleep came quickly to Hermione that night, and she was more than willing to fall asleep thinking about Draco and his strange secret.


	10. Unexpectedly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, friends! Thank you so much for reading. Hope you love this chapter. It was lots of fun to write :) As always, read, review, and enjoy!!

“Here, start on that window over there. And use the blue rag, not the one with holes.”

“Yes, your highness,” Draco muttered, picking up the cleaning rag that was lying at his feet.

Hermione gave him an annoyed look and put her hands on her hips. “Look, I’ve been doing this a lot longer than you have. I know all the tricks there are to cleaning, thanks to my mum. And I’m doing it so you won’t have to live in squalor like the helpless baby you are.”

Draco put up his hands defensively. “I didn’t say a word!”

Hermione rolled her eyes and went back to scrubbing the conservatory floor, hiding a smile as she did so. Nearly a month had gone by since she and Draco laid their cards on the table and told each other their secrets. They had been relatively undisturbed by Narcissa, Blaise, and Theodore, and, after three days of slight awkwardness, Hermione and Draco had gradually become more friendly – domestic, even. Since then, the two of them had built up something that was dangerously close to friendship, spending a fair amount of time together and regularly having civil conversations. While the whole situation still felt foreign to Hermione, she was beginning to settle into a new routine – one that involved Draco Malfoy’s company.

“What’s this in the corner?” Draco asked, gesturing with his rag to a blackened spot in the corner of the window he was currently polishing.

Hermione shrugged. “You’re the one who’s lived here for ten years. You tell me.”

“Yes,” he agreed, “but you’re the one who’s been cleaning for the last few months. You’ve been in here more recently. And I’ve been here for five years, not ten.”

“Do you expect me to catch every little speck?” Hermione retorted.

Draco shook his head, returning to his window and scrubbing harder at the spot. “Where did you find this cleaning stuff anyway?”

“The hall closet,” she replied, brushing a few stray hairs away from her forehead. “There were quite a few helpful items in there.”

“Odd that I’ve never seen them.”

“Considering the state this house was in when I got here,” Hermione teased, “I’d say it’s not so odd.”

Draco shrugged. He worked for several more minutes on the black spot, then finally stepped back, took his aim, and spat directly on it. Hermione looked up at the sound as Draco began attacking the spot with a purpose. Something in the spittle must have been a solvent, because after a few seconds of fierce polishing, the black spot on the window was gone. Draco eyed it proudly and turned to face Hermione, gesturing to his handiwork.

“How’s that?” he asked with a triumphant smirk.

Hermione sat back on her heels, pretending to consider the window thoughtfully. “Well… it’s not how I would have done it, but I suppose it’s a means to an end.”

Draco scoffed. “Right, Granger. You would have sat there and scrubbed for two hours before it came off. My way is much more effective.”

“And nasty,” she muttered.

“Yes. It’s a skill I mastered in my third year here. I got so bored that I started learning how to spit with an aim.”

“Why?” Hermione asked incredulously.

He grinned. “It passed the time. Besides, I would just imagine that I was spitting right in Voldemort’s ugly eyes, and I never missed the mark.”

“Fascinating,” she remarked. “But tell me, what exactly did you aim for? Have I been scrubbing your saliva off everything in this house for three months?”

“That depends. What have you cleaned?”

“Everything.”

“Then, yeah, you’ve probably got it all.”

At his impish grin, Hermione smirked at him and threw a dry rag at him. It hit him squarely in the face.

“You’re not the only one who’s practiced throwing,” she laughed.

Draco laughed with her and tossed the rag back, managing to land it on top of her head. She snatched it off and stared at him while he laughed even harder. “How – Malfoy, how did you do that?”

“Wandless magic,” he admitted. “I picked it up after about two years in here. My mum sent me a book on it, and I’ve been working on it since then.”

“I saw that book,” Hermione replied. “When I went to the basement.”

Draco nodded. “That’s the one. It’s not that hard if you don’t have anything else to do. I don’t use it much and I’m not very good, but sometimes it comes in handy if I need to move something. Or make something float,” he added.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “A true master of the art.” She set the rag next to her soap bucket and returned to scrubbing, and Draco turned back to his newly-clean window.

“Isn’t this great,” he remarked dryly. “With this window clean, I can see so much more. Just think, I would have lived my whole life without knowing about these thorny vines that look exactly like the ones on all my other windows.”

Hermione snorted a laugh. His sarcasm was contagious. “You should write a letter to Voldemort thanking him for sending you to such a paradise.”

“Yeah, ‘wish you were here, Dark Lord of the Wizarding World,’” he said.

Hermione chuckled again. They worked for a bit longer, Hermione on the floor and Draco on the next window, before she stood and announced, “I’m going to go grab more water. The bucket’s running low. I’ll be right back.”

“I can get it, if you’d like,” Draco offered.

“Well, you can help me if you want to,” she said. “It’s pretty heavy when it’s full, and my hands are already raw from all the scrubbing.”

Hermione picked up the empty bucket and headed for the hallway, Draco right behind her. When they reached the loo, she started filling the bucket with water, and Draco leaned against the wall next to the door, looking down at the floor thoughtfully.

“Wanna know how many tiles there are on this floor, Granger?”

Hermione frowned and glanced at him behind her through the mirror. “What did you –”

“Fourteen.”

“Okay –”

“And there’s twenty-six on the floor in the dining room – ”

“You’ve –”

“Nineteen in the kitchen –”

“Mal–”

“And sixteen in the loo upstairs,” he finished proudly.

Hermione sighed. “Am I supposed to be impressed?”

Draco grinned, obviously enjoying himself. “If floor tiles impress you, you’ve got a problem.”

“Considering you’re the one who has all the floor tiles in his house memorized, I think you’re the one with the problem.”

“Don’t judge me too early, Granger. Give it five years, and you’ll be counting the floor tiles, too.”

He was teasing, but his words made Hermione inwardly wince. Five years? Could she really have to wait five years? Did she have a choice? Could she and Draco coexist for that long? It was a nightmare to think about never leaving, but maybe she should start considering the possibility.

As if sensing her thoughts, Draco quickly added, “But I’m sure you won’t be here that long. The Order will figure a way out for you.” He reached over and turned off the faucet, picking up the newly-full bucket and starting to lug it down the hallway back to the conservatory.

“And you,” Hermione answered, following him. “If they can get me out, I’m sure they can get you out, too.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “The Order doesn’t want a Death Eater, Granger.”

“How would you know?” she retorted. “I think they could get past it, especially after you tell them what you’ve told me. You’ll be an invaluable source. Besides,” she added, placing a gentle hand on his arm, “we believe in giving everyone a second chance.”

“Even Death Eaters?” he asked sardonically.

“Who needs a second chance more?”

Draco regarded her for a moment, thinking over a possibility he had seemingly never thought of. “Whatever you say, Granger.”

They reentered the conservatory and set the bucket in the center of the floor. Draco started to pick his wiping rag up again, but Hermione stopped him. “I’ve been scrubbing that floor for two hours, and three months before that. _You_ scrub the floor. _I’ll_ wash the windows.”

Draco smirked at her. “Again, whatever you say, Granger.”

They swapped jobs, Hermione confiscating Draco’s holey rags and Draco taking over the dreaded scrub brush. They chatted back and forth for a while, keeping their conversation light. After almost an hour, the water in the bucket finally needed another refill, and Draco stood to get it.

“Need any help?” Hermione asked over her shoulder.

“Nope,” he said cheerfully. He was whistling quietly as he left the room in search of more water, and Hermione tried to hide a smile. He had been so sullen and moody when she first came, and the change in him since her arrival – no, since her decision to believe him – was not easily overlooked. He hadn’t touched the Firewhiskey in over a month. He was happier than she had seen him since… ever, really. Even at Hogwarts, he had been pretentious, condescending, and downright mean, but now it was as though he were a totally different person. _I guess that proves a second chance can make all the difference,_ Hermione thought.

After five minutes had gone by without a sound from Draco, Hermione set her rag down and started toward the door. “Malfoy?” she called softly. “Mal–”

They collided, her coming out the door just as he was coming in. Soapy water from the bucket sloshed out and soaked the front of Hermione's shirt and pants, as well as Draco's sleeves.

"Godric, Malfoy," she muttered. "Couldn't you at least have shouted 'fore'?"

"What?" he asked.

"Muggle expression," she explained dismissively. She pulled her shirt in front of her away from her body. "Well, looks like I'm in for a headcold."

Draco set the bucket on the floor and began shaking his sleeves to dry them, slinging even more water around the room. "Sorry, Granger. I guess I'm not used to coexisting yet."

Hermione sighed. "Well," she said, "it could be worse. I'll dry off quick enough."

"Go change clothes," Draco stated, as if it were an obvious conclusion.

Hermione gave him an unbelieving look. "Malfoy, has it escaped your notice that I have not once in my time here changed clothes?"

Draco studied her for a moment, taking in the burgundy shirt, faded blue jeans, and trainers that she had been wearing for almost three months. "I, um... I guess I hadn't thought about it," he admitted.

"Obviously," she said. "Don't worry about it. I'll dry off."

"It's November, Granger. It's freezing in here. If you walk around soaking wet, you'll get sick for sure."

Hermione sighed. "Did you miss my headcold comment?"

Draco wasn't listening. Instead, he was already starting to head down the hallway and toward the staircase. "Come on."

"Where are we going?" she asked, following him and hugging herself with her arms to stay warm.

"Upstairs," he said unnecessarily. They headed up the staircase and to the empty bedroom that held the entrance to the basement. "I think I might have something you can wear down there," he mused, pushing the secret wall open and gesturing for Hermione to go down the tunnel first. The trip down to the basement seemed shorter to Hermione than the first time she had walked it alone. She suddenly realized that it was the first time she had been to the basement since Draco had passed out down there. They reached the bottom of the tunnel and the entrance of the laboratory, and Draco headed toward a locked trunk in the corner of the room.

Hermione wandered around as he dug through the trunk, muttering to himself. She took advantage of her opportunity to study some of the labels on the potion ingredients on the large table. The potions displayed in Draco's books were some of the most advanced that Hermione had ever seen. "Is this really a dragon's heart?" she asked in amazement, picking up a jar filled with some sort of organ.

Draco stopped his rummaging and turned to look at the jar Hermione was holding. "Um... yeah, that's what Dennis said it was. I'm trying to make a potion that lets the user fly without the use of a broom or a wand."

"What?!" Hermione gasped at the casual way Draco had made his statement. "Is that even possible?"

"I don't know yet," he said absently. "That's what I'm trying to find out." He finally stood, holding a gray tunic and a black robe. "I'm not sure what these are doing down here, but it's all I can find that you might be able to wear. They're a little big, but you could probably alter them. Can you sew?"

"Not really," Hermione said. "I can try to do something with them, though." Draco nodded and handed the garments to her. "Thanks," she added.

"Don't mention it." He closed the trunk and started toward the entrance to the tunnel, the stopped and turned back toward the room. "Hang on, let me grab one of my books before we go back upstairs."

Hermione studied a few more bottles on the table thoughtfully as Draco strode to his desk, and she was surprised to see how neatly he had organized everything. Granted, it wasn't exactly the way she would have done it, but it was obvious that Draco had put a lot of time and work into his potion making.

Her musings were interrupted when Draco suddenly let out a frustrated cry, causing her to whip around in surprise. "What's wrong?" she asked.

Draco whirled around to face her, looking very disturbed. "The map. The floorplan of the house. It's gone! Did you take it when you were down here that day?"

"Of course not!" she said. "I was too busy trying to save your life, if you'll recall!"

"Then Blaise and Theodore. Did they take it?" Draco was frantic, yanking open his desk drawers and shuffling through the stacks of paper on his desk.

"No, not that I know of," Hermione replied. "I wasn't with them the whole time and –" She stopped short, suddenly remembering something she had forgotten about in the frenzy of excitement. “Malfoy. Malfoy, they _were_ down here!" Draco turned to face her again, and she walked quickly to the desk to join him. "I remember now! We were all up in your room and were trying to figure out what had happened, and Zabini told Nott to go downstairs and check around your desk for any clues about what might have happened."

"And you didn't try to stop them?" Draco demanded.

"I didn't think about it! I mean, I remember seeing the map down there when I found you, but I didn't even think about it when Nott went down there."

Draco sighed in frustration, sitting on the edge of his desk and running one hand through his hair desperately. "Merlin's teeth. I've tried for so long to keep that map a secret, and now –"

"I'm sorry," Hermione blurted out. "I didn't even think about it."

Draco shook his head. "Oh, it's not your fault. It's mine for being so careless."

Hermione frowned and looked at the floor, trying to think of something to say. "You said you trusted them, right? Zabini and Nott? That they're like your brothers?" Draco shrugged, and Hermione continued. "They won't turn us in. Surely they wouldn't do that now."

He nodded. "It's not them I'm worried about. If they were going to turn us in, they would have done it a long time ago. I just hope it doesn't fall into the wrong hands. Dennis is the one who saved me. If anything happens to him –"

"Nothing will happen to Dennis," Hermione said firmly. "He's first on the Order's list of priorities."

Draco paused, then looked up at Hermione with a small smile. "Second, I'll bet," he said. "After you."

Hermione shook her head but couldn't keep from smiling in return. "Whatever you say, Malfoy."

After a moment, Draco stood, shaking his wet sleeves again. "Well, I guess there's no use in worrying about it now. I can talk to them about it next time they come. For now, let's go get changed and get back to work."

Hermione laughed. "Enjoying a bit of hard work?"

He smirked at her in return. "It keeps my mind off the rest of my crushing doom."

"Well, don't worry about the portkey," Hermione said. "Zabini and Nott probably haven't thought another thing about it."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Hermione was not often wrong, but she was very much wrong about Theodore Nott. He had spent the last month giving more thought than was probably healthy to the portkey, and he had reached no solid conclusions. The things Blaise had said about the mole in the Ministry had provoked Theodore into some serious thought. If there really was a leak, and Granger was playing a part in it, and it meant a link to Draco's underground group and what was left of the Order, then Theodore was positive the portkey he had found had something to do with all that.

Grimmauld Place. Theodore hadn't been there in years, and then only to look for clues on who Draco might have met five years ago. It hardly seemed that long to Theodore, especially now that his interest in the place had been renewed.

A portkey in one corner of an unassuming floorplan. Draco was smart, Theodore had realized, and he had almost pulled off whatever crazy scheme he had been involved in all those years ago.

And that was the main reason Theodore was where he was on this particular night. Squatted down behind a large stack of charred-black stone, he had been waiting for nearly four hours, waiting for night to fall as he searched for some sign. Theodore had spent the last twelve nights in the same place, determined that he would find what he was looking for. What exactly that was, Theodore wasn't sure of, but he knew he would know it when he saw it.

Shifting his weight, Theodore went over all the information he had in his head. _Draco Malfoy, right-hand man to Voldemort, was captured at Grimmauld Place on September 14, 1999, at 11:00 P.M. He was seen conversing with and giving a mysterious object to an unidentified person, who vanished as soon as Malfoy was petrified. Malfoy was taken to Voldemort's lair, then to his own home three days later, where he was sentenced to be trapped and cursed for the rest of his life for his treason. Searches for Malfoy's contact and any information about the secret meeting have proved unsuccessful._ That was part of an article in the Daily Prophet, an article that Theodore had memorized. Any hope of solving the mystery of Draco's past lay in that story.

Theodore had asked Draco once about his past with the underground movement, and he had been coldly rebuffed. Granted, it had been a pointed question that Theodore really had no right to ask, but it had stirred in him questions that demanded answers, as well as a desire to solve whatever mystery Draco had become embroiled in.

Seven years in a world ruled by Voldemort had left Theodore feeling empty, bitter, and ready for a change in the way things were run. He had always been one to go with the flow and keep his mouth shut, but after seeing hundreds of people he had known as a child brutally murdered or sold off as slaves, Theodore suddenly felt the need to be more than lukewarm. He knew Blaise felt the same way to a certain degree, but Theodore's convictions ran deeper. Solving the story behind Draco's mysterious circumstances would reinstate a sense of justice into the Wizarding World, as well as finally give Theodore an accomplishment to be proud of.

He stretched his neck to either side before resuming his stock-still position. Grimmauld Place wasn't an ideal spot to spend the night, but Theodore was determined. _First Draco is captured here,_ he thought, _then Granger shows up and a portkey to the same place appears._ It was too much of a coincidence. The two events had to be connected, and probably to the Order and the underground, provided the two organizations were separate. If he could prove that, then he could possibly work with Draco to help the movement against Voldemort and restore peace.

All Theodore needed was some good, solid evidence, and he was almost positive that he would find it in Grimmauld Place.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"You really don't have to help," Hermione remarked, her amusement showing through her voice. "I've done dishes by myself before, you know."

"I know," Draco shot back. "But I'm enjoying this strange feeling of being useful."

Hermione shook her head and returned to scrubbing the dried sauce off a plate. It had been four days since she had washed the dishes, and they had piled up more than she had realized. She was expecting it to take awhile, but what she wasn't expecting was Draco appearing by her side unannounced and drying every dish she washed by hand.

"Where did you get these dishes?" Hermione asked, running her fingertip along the scalloped edge of a saucer.

Draco studied the saucer thoughtfully. "I honestly don't remember. I think Mum gave them to me when I moved in here. She said I would appreciate it later on. I think she might have gotten them from a wizard in France."

"Huh," Hermione replied. "They're quite pretty. A little fancy for the kind of meals we eat, but still pretty."

"Listen, if we wait around for a gourmet meal to use these dishes, they'll collect dust in a cabinet for the rest of our lives. And, yeah, Mum's got good taste."

Hermione gave him a teasing smile. "So does your mum do everything for you?"

"Well," he stammered, "not everything. That is, she always let me do some things, but... well, I do everything on my own now!"

"Everything," Hermione mused. "Even washing your own dishes?"

"What?"

She set a still-damp bowl back in the sink and reached over to take the saucer and wash rag out of Draco's hands. "See," she pointed out. "You're just skimming over the top of the plate like this. If you do that, only the center of the plate gets dry, and the little indentions on the rim might still have water stuck inside, which could fade the paint." She demonstrated her described method, then handed the saucer and rag back to Draco, who had watched her intently.

"Like that?" he asked, doing exactly what Hermione had said not to do.

"No," she said, "like this." She reached over and took each of his hands in hers, using them like puppets to re-demonstrate her method. She dried the plate gently and began to pull away, her point made, but Draco held on a second longer than necessary. Even when she had returned to her bowl, he watched her out of the corner of his eye.

"Like that?" he asked again, repeating his same mistake.

Hermione shook her head impatiently upon noticing. "No, Malfoy, that's not it."

"Well, maybe you should show me again."

Wiping her hands on her dry rag and heaving an exasperated sigh, Hermione started to reach for his hands again, but she suddenly saw the mischievous look he was giving her. "You cheat!" she said.

Draco laughed loudly, polishing the plate with perfect precision the way she had showed him the first time. "It's far too easy with you, Granger."

Hermione tried to glare at him, but she found herself laughing with him. They finished the dishes quickly and stacked them in the cabinet in a matter of minutes.

"I thought I might teach you some wandless magic," Draco said abruptly as he shut the cabinet door. "That is, if you'd like."

Hermione regarded him for a moment. "Really? Why's that?"

He shrugged. "It's pretty easy to learn, and I'm sure you'd pick it up quickly. It's always useful around the house if you need it, and it could come in handy if you ever got in a bind."

She nodded thoughtfully. "I've never tried it, but I'd be willing to learn. When the Order comes for me, there's no telling how long it could be before I have my own wand back. I may not ever get the same one back, and I don't know how I'd get a new one."

"Right," Draco agreed. "I'm no master at it, but I can teach you what I know and we can learn the rest together."

"Together," Hermione repeated, gazing at the floor.

Draco was quiet for a few seconds, seeming to think over the significance of the word. Hermione wasn't sure he had ever used it about them, and it made her feel strange. Sure, they lived in a house together, they spent most of the day together, but they weren't _together._ Even considering the possibility made her feel like a traitor to the Order somehow.

"I didn't mean it like that," Draco finally said softly. "We can wait on the wandless magic, if that's what you'd rather –"

"No, no," Hermione broke in. "I didn't mean it like that. It just... it's nothing. I'd like to learn. I really would." She tried to sound as sincere as she felt.

The doubtful look left Draco's face, replaced by a tentative smile. "All right. We can start tomorrow morning. In the basement?"

Hermione smiled in return. "Sounds good."

They stood in a silence that was only slightly awkward for a moment, then Hermione started to move toward the kitchen entrance. "Well," she said. "I think I'll turn in for the night."

Draco snapped out of his silence and nodded in return. "Yeah, me, too. 'Night."

"'Night, Malfoy."

Hermione climbed the stairs to her room slowly, walking to her bedroom and sitting on the edge of her bed in a daze. Draco Malfoy was going to teach her wandless magic. She mulled over the day's events in her head. Their little cleaning adventure earlier that afternoon, then the almost flirtatious way Draco had acted while they washed the dishes, puzzled Hermione. The same nervous, stomach-fluttering feeling washed over her.

Still, it wasn't necessarily a bad feeling. She glanced down at her hands and noticed that they were trembling the slightest bit.

_It's just the cold,_ she told herself. _It's not him. Just the cold._

It didn't occur to Hermione that her bedroom wasn't the least bit cold that evening. She was too busy trying to convince herself otherwise.


	11. Fading of the Light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My friends! I hope you're all ready for this chapter - wait, no. You're definitely not ready. Believe me, this is a big, BIG chapter. As always, read, reviews, and enjoy (and tell me what you think) :)

"Hand up! A little more to the left. Don't look sideways. Always keep your mind focused on what you're doing. There, that's it. Good. Now up a little. That's good, Granger!"

Hermione let her hand drop and used the opposite one to wipe off the sweat that had formed on her brow. Draco's basement/laboratory was freezing cold in the early December air, but Hermione had worked up a sweat with her intense concentration.

Draco had made good on his promise to teach her wandless magic. Though she had already known the basics, the previous week and a half had opened new worlds to her in the ways of magic. It seemed like years had gone by since she had done any magic, and though wandless magic was definitely harder and more stressful, it felt good to know she wouldn't be defenseless should the unthinkable happen and she be discovered. Granted, she would be no match for someone armed with a wand, but it certainly made her feel better prepared.

Draco turned from his position in front of Hermione and stooped to pick up the chair she had just been levitating from four feet away. She was showing incredible progress already, having mastered in a week and a half things that had taken him a year to accomplish. _No wonder she was always top of her classes_ , he thought ruefully.

Taking his cue that they were stopping for a break, Hermione settled herself on a nearby chair and smoothed her hair back from her face. "So," she said, "I feel like I'm improving."

Draco set the chair upright and hid a small smile. "You're doing all right, I suppose." _Merlin forbid she get a big head on top of all that skill._

She made no effort to hide her own smile. "Just all right?"

He shrugged. "Let's not get carried away."

Hermione nodded, seemingly pacified with that answer. She looked around the room, though she had already done it a hundred times that day alone. The laboratory was a room she hadn't had much of a chance to explore, even since hers and Draco's lessons had begun. They had settled into a routine: lessons all morning, a quick lunch, then cleaning, potion-making, and anything else during the afternoons. It was frighteningly domestic, and Hermione was afraid she was getting used to it far too easily.

Still, what could she do? It wasn't as if attacking the vines was doing her any good, and contacting the Order was out of the question. She still hadn't made up her mind whether or not to try to get Blaise and Theodore in on helping her, but honestly it was her best idea yet, which was a sickening thought. It had been close to three months since her capture, and there was no sign that the Order had even been looking for her. Hermione guessed that they were probably looking for Dennis first, and while that's the way she would have wanted it, it still stung that she was stuck in a seemingly hopeless situation indefinitely.

"Suddenly develop an interest in Drought of the Living Death, Granger? It doesn't seem like something you'd want."

Draco was giving her a smirk, something he seemed to do more often now that they were getting comfortable with each other's presence. Hermione rolled her eyes. "Just lost in thought, Malfoy," she quipped. "You should try it some time."

"I've had five years to wallow in thought," he replied. "I'd rather not get lost in my own head. It's a surprisingly dangerous place to get lost."

"Not so surprising, if you ask me," Hermione said. "But I'll withhold comment."

Draco nodded appreciatively. "Good. In that case, care to continue with our lesson?"

"More like viewing session," Hermione grumbled under her breath. Draco had an irksome habit of demonstrating a spell, then watching while she tried to imitate it, offering no advice or commentary. While she welcomed the silence, it would have been nice to know if she was doing things correctly. Draco's teaching methods were getting better, but not by much.

"Don't slander your mentor," Draco shot back. "Or I'll set you to work scrubbing every window on the third floor."

Hermione scoffed. "You'll just end up helping me – not that that hovel up there isn't a two-person job. And don't even get me started on the disaster that is this basement."

"It's my workspace," Draco protested. "I need to have everything laid out where I can see it."

"It's not so disorganized as it is dusty. Every time I wave my hand, I kick up a cloud of dust that could fell an elephant."

"Sure that's not just your own personal dust cloud, Granger?"

"If I have my own personal dust cloud, it's from living in this house for three months!"

Draco opened his mouth to retort, but he suddenly cocked his head to the side and looked at her strangely. "Three months?" he repeated. "I... didn't realize it had only been three months."

"Already feel like it's a lifetime of suffering my presence, Malfoy?" she teased.

He shook his head, still looking vaguely astonished. "I guess. I mean, it just feels like you've been here longer." Dropping his serious tone, he grinned wolfishly and added, "But you are pretty insufferable."

Hermione wiped the smug grin off his face with a cleaning rag, and the aid of a little wandless magic.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The conference room in the Fortress was bustling with Order members, all of them chattering and carrying on about subjects related and unrelated to the matter they were gathered about. The only one who wasn’t participating in the clamor was Neville, who was alternating between scanning the words on a piece of parchment and scribbling on a paper next to his seat at the head of the conference table. He looked up briefly, then continued with his work.

“What’s all this about?” Michael Corner asked Padma Patil. “Since when do we have meetings at eleven o’clock at night?”

Padma shrugged, glancing at Neville and then back to Michael. “Hanged if I know. I was on watch in the East Tower, and Luna said Neville wanted us all in here immediately. Sure hope nobody tries to break in while there’s no one guarding the place.”

Michael nodded appreciatively. “And she didn’t say what Neville wanted?”

“Not a word. Must be important though, to drag everyone away from their posts.”

Michael didn’t get a chance to respond, as Neville stood and said loudly, “If everybody will take a seat, we’ll get started.”

The Order, some of them half-asleep, shuffled to take seats at the long meeting table, muttering softly among themselves. Once everyone had been seated and had quieted down, Neville cleared his throat and said, “Thanks for coming, guys. I know this is short notice and you all have things to do, but this is very important.” He turned to face Cho Chang, who was seated to Neville’s right. “Cho, you can tell it.”

Cho’s eyes were bright as she stood, a piece of blue paper in her hand, and she did little to mask the excitement in her voice. “I just got a message from Katie Bell,” Cho announced, gesturing to the paper in her hand. “It’s the first we’ve heard from her in nearly two months.”

Above the muted din, Cho managed to hear Nigel shout, “What did she say?”

“She says, and I quote,” Cho said as the Order quieted down once more, _“Couldn’t meet at Rook. Unforeseen circumstances. Will meet at HW at 12. Important.”_ When Cho finished reading the message, the Order was uncharacteristically quiet, each running over the message in their minds.

Finally, George broke the silence. “HW?”

Neville nodded. “Hogwarts. It was part of a code Katie and Cho used when they first started communicating.”

"So Katie wants to meet at the Hogwarts ruins?" Dean asked. "Is that not dangerous? Seems to me that Hogwarts would be a place pretty closely watched by the Ministry."

Neville shook his head. "Fleur's been keeping an eye on it. She's been down there about five times, and every time it's deserted. I think after seven years, the Ministry has given up on trying to catch us there."

"And we're sure this is from Katie?" Seamus added. "I remember last time we got a message, we all went to Luna's old house and waited for eight hours in the freezing cold. Katie never showed up."

"This is Katie," Cho said, sounding a bit defensive. "She's the only one who would say 'HW' instead of Hogwarts."

Neville nodded in acquiescence. "We're pretty sure, Seamus. There's always the possibility that it's a fake, but there's really no way to tell."

"So, midnight?" George said. "Does that mean tonight?"

"I got this about seven o'clock," Cho replied. "She didn't specify any other day, so I'm sure she meant tonight."

"So that gives us, what?" Angelina commented. "An hour?"

"Yeah." Neville's voice sounded grim. "That's why we're all here so late. I need to assemble a team to meet Katie."

"I'll go," George volunteered immediately.

Neville gave him a wary glance. "I don't know, George. You've been high on the Ministry's radar lately. It may not be wise to send you into an unknown situation."

"Neville," George said seriously, "I'm going crazy in here. I've been in the Fortress for months without leaving. I've got to get out of here and do something to be useful, or I'm going to bust! It's not even that dangerous of a mission."

"It's still uncertain," Angelina reminded him.

George looked at Neville, who shrugged. "If you're willing to take the chance, George, I won't stop you. Any more volunteers?"

Within minutes, a team of seven – consisting of Neville, Cho, George, Angelina, Dean, Seamus, and Nigel – had been assembled and was ready to go. Polyjuice Potion was precious, so they didn't bother to use it, but they wore cowls to shadow their faces and quickly came up with a plan in case they somehow got separated or something went wrong. At half-past eleven, the covert group set out, with promises to return by twelve-thirty.

"I've got a bad feeling about this," Millicent Bulstrode said, giving a half-hearted wave as the rest of the Order watched Neville's group Apparate.

Luna placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Don't worry, Millicent," she said. "Maybe this will turn the tide somehow."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"I think we should move the desk so we can get into that corner to clean," Hermione stated, setting down her water bucket on the basement floor and pulling her rolled-up sleeves higher on her arms. "There's no telling what kind of creatures have bred in that dust-trap."

Draco strode over from where he had been polishing a set of potion vials and stood next to Hermione, giving her a skeptical eye. "I'm not moving the desk."

"Why not? It's –"

"If I move my desk," he explained petulantly, "I'm going to have to move everything in it, and it'll take me forever to get things back the way I like them."

Hermione turned to face him, her arms crossed over her chest in her best Molly Weasley impression. "Do you mean to tell me that in all the time you've lived here, you haven't moved that desk from the corner?"

"Nope," he said proudly and not at all repentantly.

She glowered at him. "Then it needs cleaning worse than I thought. Move the desk, Malfoy."

He crossed his arms stubbornly, matching her posture as he shook his head. "No."

"Malfoy!"

"If you want to clean back there so badly," he countered, "you move it yourself."

Hermione gave him an exasperated look but didn't say anything. However, his smug smirk apparently gave her the gumption she needed. Hermione placed her hands on the sides of the desk and pulled as hard as she could, kicking a few pieces of balled-up parchment out of her way as she tugged furiously. When that didn't work, she moved to the right side of the desk and began pushing, the heavy desk not budging an inch. Draco had been smirking the whole time she struggled, but when she threw her shoulder against the desk and tried to push her feet off the wall in an attempt to move the desk even a fraction of an inch, he laughed out loud.

Hermione didn't respond, but she gave him a look that could halt a Centaur in its tracks. Draco stopped laughing but covered his mouth with his hand in case the urge arose again.

Hermione stopped her shoving for a moment and stood back, giving an impatient huff and putting her hands on her hips. She blew a strand of renegade hair back before suddenly brightening and giving Draco a triumphant look. Again, she said nothing, but Draco watched her with a more wary eye than before. Merlin knew she would probably use him as a lever if she had a mind to.

Instead, Hermione closed her eyes and stretched out her right hand toward the desk, her feet planted apart and her other hand clenched in a fist at her side. With her eyes shut and her attention diverted, Draco took a moment to study her face, something he had been wanting to do for a while now. A look of sheer determination and stubbornness twisted her mouth and made her eyes crinkle at the corners. The smattering of freckles that had once coated her nose and cheeks had all but faded, Draco suddenly noticed, and a long white scar stretched across the top of her forehead. Her face was lined from years of stress and worry, and even though it had only been seven years since she had been forced into hiding, Draco couldn't help but notice how much older she looked. She couldn't have been more than twenty-five, his own age, but she looked like she could be at least ten years older. Hermione Granger wasn't as pretty as she used to be, he thought, but Draco had found that beauty meant less and less to him these days. After all, he had cracked all his own mirrors in anger at his horrifically scarred visage.

He pulled himself from his stare and concentrated on what in the world Hermione thought she was doing. If he were going to guess, he would say she was probably trying to use her wandless magic to move the desk. An absurd thought, really, since she had only begun learning –

But she was Hermione Granger. Therefore, the desk moved.

It was a slow process, and one that Hermione kept her eyes tightly squeezed shut for, but inch by grudging inch, the desk heaved its time-stuck legs and slid across the floor like a creaking four-legged swan.

Draco couldn't help himself. It was probably a cruel thing to do, but Draco Malfoy had spent years of his life alone and miserably lonely. Annoying Hermione was a ridiculously childish thing to do, but it brought him some of the first genuine amusement he had had in years.

Swallowing a smirk, Draco stretched out his own hand and concentrated on the desk, applying just enough force with his mind to halt the progress Hermione had made on the stationary desk. He allowed himself a quick glance at her, and he nearly laughed out loud. Her face was scrunched up even tighter, her free hand's knuckles turning white from her struggle. Draco suddenly had to pay attention to what he was doing. She was a lot stronger than he thought she was.

They stood like that for nearly a minute, Hermione concentrating all her might on moving the desk and becoming more and more determined and frustrated the longer it wouldn't move, while Draco focused on pushing against Hermione's strength and anchoring the desk where it was. Finally, Hermione let out an irritated sigh and dropped her hand, opening her eyes to see Draco doing the same.

"Wh– you – Malfoy!!" she spluttered, realizing why she hadn't been able to move the desk.

Draco laughed, and when he did, he found that he couldn't stop. He leaned on a nearby chair for support, collapsing into it as he roared in laughter. Hermione simply stared at him in disbelief and utter disgust, but after an extended period of laughter from her comrade, she finally joined in and began smiling at the joke.

"You think that's funny, do you, Malfoy?" she asked challengingly.

The resolute look on Hermione's face made Draco laugh all the harder. It had been so long since he had simply laughed, and he felt like his face might crack from not being used in such a way for so long.

However, Hermione didn't give him time to ponder his newfound amusement, for no sooner had Draco erupted in another set of snickers did she pounce on him. She was a surprisingly good tickler, immediately going for his ribs before moving to his elbows. He yelped when she leapt on him and promptly fell out of his chair onto the hardened stone floor, taking Hermione with him. Taking advantage of the situation, Hermione just kept on tickling him, and Draco found himself laughing involuntarily.

She stopped for a split second to catch her breath, but it was all Draco needed to gain the upper hand again. Her grabbed both her wrists in one of his hands and set to work tickling her sides, making her burst into half-screams half-crows of laughter. She fought him valiantly, begging him to stop, but he was relentless. Her piercing laughter echoed through the stone halls of the basement.

Then something snapped. There was no noticeable difference in their actions, but both Draco and Hermione stopped their playful struggle as if realizing for the first time how close they were. He had her pinned on the floor, one hand holding both her arms above her head. She stopped breathing all at once, and her face turned as white as a sheet.

Draco slowly released her wrists and offered his hand to pull her up, but she didn't take it, instead pushing herself into a sitting position in front of him. Neither said a word – neither knew what to say – but their gazes said all that needed to be said.

Draco cautiously reached out a hand to touch one of the wild curls that had sprung free from Hermione's ponytail, and she didn't stop him, following his hand with her eyes before returning to his stare. She leaned in a bit closer to him – almost imperceptibly, but not quite so. Draco found himself leaning in a bit as well, so close that he could count the fine eyelashes that framed her clear brown eyes. Hermione let her gaze wander down his face to his lips before flitting back up to his eyes. He leaned in a fraction of an inch closer.

"Oi, Malfoy! You've got company!"

It was Blaise's voice, coming from the upstairs bedroom.

"Leave it to Zabini and Nott to have perfect timing," Draco grumbled, pushing himself up and hauling Hermione up with him. "Where's my vial?"

"Malfoy! Where are you, mate?" Theodore's voice was even closer, probably already in the tunnel.

"Here," Draco said, shoving a cleaning rag into Hermione's hands. "Clean something."

Hermione gave him a scornful look. "What?"

"Just clean," he ordered, already searching for something to look busy with. Of all days for Blaise and Theodore to decide to make a sudden appearance, of course it would be the day Draco was having a _tickle fight_ with Hermione Granger. Not to mention whatever that was that had happened after.

Draco and Hermione managed to look relatively inconspicuous by the time Blaise and Theodore appeared in the doorway of the basement. Draco was pouring a violet liquid into a bottle he wasn't sure was made to hold violet liquid, and Hermione had her back to the door, furiously scrubbing at a black fungus on the wall.

"There you are!" Theodore exclaimed. "I don't know why we don't just come down here first thing when we can't find you."

"Haven't you ever heard of knocking?" Draco growled at his friend. "Or waiting politely in the entry hall before barging in?"

"Sure," Theodore said cheerfully. "But what's the fun of that?"

Blaise nudged Draco with his elbow. "Besides, if we waited for you to happen upon us in the entry hall, I have no doubt we'd be up there all day. Maybe all night, too."

"Do you and Granger _live_ down here, Malfoy?" Theodore queried, casting a doubtful eye around the room.

"Does it look like we live down here, Nott?" Draco asked acidly.

Blaise shrugged. "You're down here every time we're here."

"Well, it's none of your business. Speaking of which, I do know something that _is_ your business."

Blaise raised his eyebrows questioningly, and Theodore said, "Yes?"

Draco crossed his arms and leaned against the laboratory table, facing Blaise and Theodore with a stony expression. "About my floorplan."

"Your what?"

"My floorplan," Draco said tightly. "The map of my house. Where is it?"

Blaise whistled in what must have supposed to have been an innocent gesture, but Theodore's mischievous grin canceled out any sympathy Blaise might have been looking for. "You calling us thieves, Malfoy? What makes you think we've got it?"

"Never mind," Draco snapped. "Just hand it over."

Theodore shrugged. "'Fraid I can't do that, mate. I don't have it."

"You don't have it with you, or you don't have it at all?"

"What's the difference?"

"There's a great deal of difference!" Draco exploded. "Give me my floorplan, Nott!"

Theodore cocked his head to the side and poked Blaise's shoulder. "Look at his face, Blaise. I'd say that map must be pretty important to old Draco here. What is it, yours and Granger's love journal?"

Draco scowled at that, and Blaise looked over his shoulder at Hermione, who had stopped her pretense of cleaning and was glaring at the two guests. "Hello to you, too, Granger," Blaise said softly. "Nice to see you in your natural habitat."

"And you in yours," she said dryly. "Caught in the midst of a lie and a theft."

Blaise glared at her, and Theodore laughed. "She's still got her Gryffindor spirit," he remarked with a wink. Hermione rolled her eyes and came to stand closer to the three Slytherins.

"Cut the small talk, you two," Draco said. "I know you've got my floorplan, and I want it back."

Theodore shrugged, but Blaise had the decency to look chastised. "Look, Draco, we didn't realize it meant so much, or we wouldn't have taken it."

"Oh, you normally go around stealing random objects from other people's houses?"

"Obviously not," Theodore stated. "But you're our friend."

Draco looked like he was about to give Theodore the fiercest tongue-lashing in the history of Malfoy tongue-lashings, but he bit the inside of his cheek and looked away for a second, regaining his composure. "Just bring me my floorplan."

Blaise started to say something defensive, but Theodore just shrugged again and said, "Sure, mate. I'll bring it next time we come."

"And that will be when?"

"Tomorrow, if you can wait that long," Theodore said impishly. Draco rolled his eyes to the ceiling but simply nodded.

There was a short silence, during which Draco glared at Theodore, then Blaise, then the opposite wall. Blaise stuck his hands in his pockets and stole a glance around the room, and Theodore eyed Hermione before his gaze fell on Draco. Or rather, Draco's neck.

"Hey, hey, now," he said, his eyes widening. Blaise turned to see what the fuss was about, and Draco self-consciously rubbed his neck, wondering what was going on. As soon as he touched his neck, he felt it – four long scratches, not bleeding but no doubt inflamed from Hermione's attempts to get away from their tickle fight. _Perfect,_ he thought. _Just perfect._

Blaise had caught on to Theodore's meaning by this point, and both of them smirked at Draco. "I guess she likes it rough then, eh, Malfoy?" Blaise asked. "Or does she just get it that way whether she likes it or not?"

Draco wasn't sure what was worse: Blaise and Theodore getting the wrong idea about his and Granger's relationship, or them finding out that they had had a _tickle fight_ , of all things. Honestly, both were humiliating at this point, but he knew Hermione would probably kill him if he implied the former.

"Mind your own business, Zabini," he said irritably, pulling his collar higher as if covering the light scratches would make them invisible. Blaise and Theodore just smirked even more, and Draco heard Hermione give an impatient sigh behind him. "And the scratches happened to be an accident," he added for good measure.

Theodore burst out laughing at that, and Blaise just shook his head in amusement. "Yeah, that's believable."

Draco gave them both a half-hearted shove, trying to keep his face from turning any redder than it already was. "So was there a reason you two came by, or did you just come to heckle me?"

"I'm just here to see Granger," Theodore quipped, but Blaise elbowed him.

"We've got something we need to talk about," Blaise said more seriously. "Something's going on in the Ministry, and we think you might have some answers."

"Me?" Draco said incredulously. "I haven't been out of this house in five years. What makes you think I'd know anything about it?"

"We have our reasons," Blaise replied. "But it's probably best if she's not here for this."

He had gestured at Hermione, and Draco set his mouth in a firm line. "You're nervous around Granger, aren't you, Blaise? It's not like she can spill your secrets any more than I can."

"Then you can fill her in later, if you want," Blaise said. "But she's just a slave and a muggleborn at that, and this doesn't concern her yet."

"Yet?" Hermione asked.

"That's right. Draco?"

Draco hesitated, but Hermione made the decision for him. "I'll go. Three Slytherins at once is almost too much to bear, especially when they're as," she spared a glance at Draco, " _insufferable_ as you three."

Blaise and Theodore didn't miss the almost-unnoticeable smile Draco directed at the floor when Hermione spoke, nor did they miss the way Hermione's hand brushed Draco's as she passed, making an exit from the basement. Wisely, both men refrained from making comment, but Theodore raised his eyebrows suggestively.

"It's great to have a slave completely submitted, isn't it, Malfoy?" Theodore asked. "Or would you know?"

“Shut it,” Draco snapped. “What's this about the Ministry?”

Theodore straightened. “Something’s up, Draco. The air’s different. There’s rumors of a mole in the Ministry, and it’s got everyone stirred up.”

“Thicknesse is getting nervous,” Blaise chimed in. “I was speaking with your mum the other day, and she says Thicknesse has put everyone in the Ministry under severe scrutiny. They can’t leave their homes, send messages, or speak to anyone else without someone knowing. I wouldn’t be surprised if Thicknesse cracks under the pressure and starts a bloodbath till he figures it out.”

“Is Mum involved in any of this?” Draco demanded. “Because if she is, you two better make sure she’s safe.”

“Don’t worry about her,” Blaise assured him. “She’s not a Ministry employee, so I doubt she’s under any close surveillance. As the widow of Lucius Malfoy and the mother of you, she’s probably watched a little more closely than some others, but I’d say she’s safe for the time being.”

Draco appeared to be relieved. “That’s good news.”

Theodore nodded seriously. “But that’s not all, Draco. If there is a mole, their life is in serious danger. Whoever it is is probably trying to blend in as best they can, but my guess is that they’ll make a break for it before Thicknesse can catch them.”

“So?” Draco said casually. “In case you forgot, I’m stuck in here for the rest of my life. The mole is just going to have to do without me.”

“We know that, mate,” Blaise said. “But you know who it is, don’t you?”

There was a moment of silence, and Draco eyed Blaise and Theodore steadily. So much was at stake.

“I know who it was,” Draco finally said, sounding weary. “But that was seven years ago. A lot could have happened since then, and it’s not like I get daily updates from the underground movement.”

“Is the underground movement connected to the Order?” Theodore asked suddenly.

Draco looked startled. “What makes you think the Order still exists?”

“Granger had to come from somewhere.”

Busted. Draco fought the urge to wince. Granger was the link to every question Blaise and Theodore had, and Draco knew he had to be careful not to involve her. “How do you know she wasn’t part of the underground?” he countered.

“We didn’t,” Blaise said, “until your face just gave it away five seconds ago.”

Draco didn’t fight the grimace this time. Some master of deception he had turned out to be. “Look, I can’t tell you blokes anything, all right? It’s just too dangerous. It’s not that I don’t trust you; it’s just that so much is at stake, and if you were to be put under Veritaserum or Legilimency, you’d have no choice but to give up answers. Please understand. I just can’t risk it.”

Blaise and Theodore didn’t look offended in the slightest. “Draco, I don’t think you understand what we’re saying,” Blaise said, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “We’re ready to help. Theodore and I have been talking a lot for the past few months, and things are getting ready to change. We’re going to have to pick a side eventually, and we’ve made our decision.”

“We’re gonna help you and the underground and the Order and Granger and whatever else there is,” Theodore added triumphantly.

Draco couldn’t believe his ears. After all this time, could he finally trust his deadly secrets to his best friends? He had been alone for so long, and now he suddenly had Granger as a confidante and his two best friends as allies. With two leading workers inside Voldemort’s system on their side, the Order and the underground could collaborate and possibly win, provided they had the element of surprise.

“Are you serious?” Draco finally managed. “You’re really ready to rise up against Voldemort now?”

“We have been for a long time, mate,” Blaise said sincerely. “We’re just finally ready to do something about it.”

Draco could have cried right then and there with relief. But a Malfoy doesn’t cry in front of anyone else, so he settled for pulling them both into an embrace and hoping they didn’t notice the wet spots on their shoulders when he pulled away.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“Don’t forget that floorplan,” Draco repeated as he stood in the entry hall with Blaise and Theodore. “On my side or not, I want it back.”

Theodore waved him off. “Don’t get your head in a twist, Malfoy. The precious pearl will be here tomorrow as planned.”

“You just see that you don’t forget it,” Draco added, trying to look threatening.

Blaise laughed. “Don’t you worry about that floorplan. Just make sure Granger doesn't claw you again.”

Draco’s face turned red as both his friends started laughing again, and he self-consciously tugged at his collar again. “I told you, it was an accident.”

“Oh, we believe you,” Theodore said, nodding his head in a mockingly sympathetic fashion. “We believe you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Draco said. “Just go on.”

Blaise and Theodore started for the door, still snickering to themselves. As they opened the door and stepped through the temporarily-opened vines, Theodore turned back and called, “As always, it was wonderful to see you, Granger!”

Hermione’s voice echoed through the living room to the entry hall. “The pleasure was all yours, Nott!”

Draco shook his head as the vines closed behind his friends, just barely catching Theodore’s muffled, “I love that girl.” For a moment, Draco stared at the vines obstructing any view or passage through the open door. No matter how many times someone entered or exited the house, Draco still felt a slight inkling of jealousy. They were free to go in and out as they pleased, while he was a prisoner. Five years later, it hadn’t gotten much easier.

Draco shook his head to clear away any envy or self-pity he might have. A much more important matter was at hand: Blaise and Theodore were finally committed. He had suspected that they would make a choice soon, but to spring it on him so suddenly and definitively was almost too much. A small victory had already been won.

Hermione interrupted his internal rejoicing by walking into the entry hall. She was holding a spell book, which she had apparently been reading in the living room. “I thought they’d never leave,” she said. “What in Merlin’s name did you talk about for so long?”

Draco, still facing the closed door, bit the inside of his cheek to keep from shouting out in triumph. He turned to face her, a smile trying to break across his lips. Hermione cocked her head to the side at the look on his face, obviously puzzled but amused. “What’s got you so happy?” she asked curiously, a smile crossing her face as well.

Draco turned his gaze to the floor, trying to contain his excitement. “We’ve made a breakthrough,” he practically laughed. “Blaise and Theodore are on our side!”

His joyful laughter was countered by her look of continued puzzlement. “On our side? What does that mean?”

Draco took a step toward her, getting more excited the longer he thought about it. “For years now, Blaise and Theodore have been torn between their allegiance to the Ministry and their desire to do what’s right. They’ve never turned in me or anyone I’ve worked with, but they’ve never actually opposed the Ministry either. They finally made their decision, though.” He gestured wildly, trying to convey the importance of the moment to Hermione. “Don’t you understand? They can help us! We don’t have to hide everything from them anymore. I can finally trust them again. They can help Dennis and the Order and set things right again!”

Hermione finally seemed to grasp what Draco was saying, as her expression turned to one of excitement as well. “Draco, that’s wonderful!”

He took another step and took both of her hands in his, and she didn’t pull away. “Hermione, I think you were a big part of it. If you hadn’t come here and given them the idea that there was still hope, they wouldn’t have made the decision. I know it’s terrible that you have to live here and be a slave and all that, but…”

“The greater good,” she finished for him. “I can bear a little suffering if it means victory for the Order.”

“They can help us,” Draco said again, looking into her eyes earnestly. “They’re coming by tomorrow with the floorplan, and then we can start working out a plan to get in contact with the Order.”

“Oh, Draco, this is so wonderful!” Hermione exclaimed, letting go of his hands and throwing her arms around his neck. Forgetting any awkwardness, Draco put his arms around her waist, lifted her off the floor, and spun them in a circle, both laughing like children at their newfound victory. After a moment, he set her down, and Hermione pulled back, resting her hands on his shoulders and giving him a serious look.

“I owe this to you, you know,” Hermione stated. “The Order has been trying to make progress like this for years, but only now that you’ve been helping has it started coming together.”

Draco gave her a gentle smile. “I guess that’s just proof that I should have joined up with the Order years ago, huh?”

Hermione smiled in return, and they found themselves back in the moment they had been close to in the basement before being interrupted. Draco tilted his head to the side and started to pull her in closer. Hermione stood up a little taller and let her gaze fall to his lips. They were so close…

It must have been a night for visitors, for no sooner had Draco’s nose begun to brush against Hermione’s cheek when the door was flung open, revealing a startled Narcissa Malfoy. She gave them both a suspicious look, even though they had all but shoved each other away in shock. Hermione looked at the floor, distractedly fiddling with her shirt hem and her hair.

“Hi, Mum,” Draco said casually. “We weren’t expecting you.”

“Obviously,” Narcissa remarked. “I didn’t realize you two had gotten so… friendly.”

Draco spoke quickly. “We haven’t. It wasn’t what it looked like.”

Narcissa raised a disbelieving eyebrow but said no more, instead gesturing to the bag she held in her right hand. “I know it’s late, Draco, but I wanted to bring some food by, and Mrs. Nordley’s visit ran a bit long.”

“Thank Merlin,” Draco quipped. “We were running low on canned mush.”

Narcissa pursed her lips at him. “Canned food keeps best. Besides, I don’t know how to cook, and I know you don’t. However, in light of the recent development –” she inclined her head at Hermione – “I did bring something she can cook. Please take this into the kitchen, Amelia Finberry.”

Hermione gritted her teeth but did as she was told, not wanting to risk a scene.

“You don’t have to say the whole thing every time, Mum,” Hermione heard Draco say as she entered the kitchen.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“I’m winning, you know,” Blaise said. He and Theodore were standing out in front of the path leading up to Draco’s house, having said hello to Narcissa on her way in.

Theodore feigned ignorance. “Winning what?”

“You know what. The bet. I said Granger would be admitting her feelings for Draco by Christmas, and you said she wouldn’t. I’m winning.”

“Are not,” Theodore retorted. “There’s no indication she’s in love with Draco.”

“No indication?” Blaise echoed incredulously. “I’d say there’s every indication.”

“But if she hasn’t by now, then there’s almost no chance she’ll do it in time.”

“It’s still three weeks to Christmas. A lot can happen in three weeks.”

“A lot can happen in three months, too, but it doesn’t seem to have happened.”

Blaise shook his head, looking off into the distance thoughtfully. “No, I predict that Granger will admit her feelings by Christmas, just like I said three months ago.”

Theodore shrugged. “You never were much good at Divination, so I don’t think my fifty Galleons and I have anything to worry about.”

Blaise scoffed and changed the subject. “So what time do you want to get here tomorrow?”

“I get through at the Daily Prophet at five, so let’s just meet here then.”

“Fine,” Blaise agreed. Then he seemed to have a sudden thought. “You do have the floorplan, don’t you?”

“Of course I have the floorplan,” Theodore said, sounding offended. “Do you really think I’m that irresponsible?”

Blaise gave him a baleful look. “This is coming from someone who threw his used dishes out the window rather than washing them.”

“In my defense, I was sixteen years old.”

“That’s more against you than for you, but I guess it doesn’t matter anymore.”

“Nope,” Theodore said cheerfully. “Where are you headed?”

Blaise sighed. “Home to bed, like any other sensible person after midnight. I suggest you do the same.”

“I’m going to Grimmauld Place.”

“Again?”

“Hey, it’s my last night with the floorplan. I want to be responsible,” he added with a smirk.

Blaise sighed again, louder and more exasperated this time. “You’ve had the floorplan with you the whole time, haven’t you?”

Theodore grinned and pulled the object in question out of his pocket. “You know me too well.”

Blaise just sighed for a third time and raised his eyes to the star-studded sky. “Merlin knows you better have it tomorrow, or Draco is going to kill you. And then me. And then you again.”

“Have no fear,” Theodore laughed, setting his finger just above the portkey on the map. “I’ve always come through. Why not now?”

“Because the stakes are higher,” Blaise said, but Theodore didn’t hear him. He was already gone.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Cho Chang shifted her position and sighed quietly. It was close to twelve thirty – half an hour after when Katie said she would be there. The seven Order members were strategically hidden throughout the ruins of Hogwarts, and Cho was already dreading what they would say if Katie didn’t show up. Seamus in particular was disgruntled about their fruitless wait at the Rook house, and Cho knew that if this backfired too, Neville might not risk another stakeout.

Ten minutes later, Cho’s fears were put to rest. In a swirl of color, a figure appeared in what used to be the courtyard of Hogwarts. Cho didn’t dare rush out of her hiding place, but she tapped her fingers anxiously on the column she was standing behind.

“Hello?” the figure called out. “It’s Katie. Are you here, Cho?”

Cho could have cried with relief, and all seven Order members came out of their hiding places at once, rushing up to meet their long-time contact.

"Katie!" George called back, and Katie Bell swirled around to wrap George in a hug. Her relief at being among Order members was apparent, and Cho couldn't help but laugh when Katie hugged her. Katie smiled and laughed quietly as each person gathered took a turn greeting her. Finally, Neville stepped forward and cleared his throat.

"Katie. After all this time, I can't believe we're finally seeing you," he said appreciatively.

Cho nodded her agreement. "It feels like a lifetime since I've talked face to face with you, Katie!" she exclaimed. "I'm so glad to see you."

Katie gave Cho a small smile, but it held a distracted quality. She looked behind herself nervously, eyes darting around as if looking for a stalker. "It's wonderful to see all of you, too," she said, and her voice sounded hollow, weary, as if she were feeling the weight of the world on her shoulders. Cho put a sympathetic hand on Katie's shoulder, which the latter didn't seem to notice. "Neville, I don't have much time, so I need to say this quickly and get out of here."

Neville gave her a puzzled look. "What are you talking about?"

Katie sighed and glanced around again. "They're onto me – Thicknesse and all of them. The Ministry's practically been on lockdown since they caught on. I've been watched like a hawk since Monday, and I just barely got that note to you this evening without being caught."

"Katie, why didn't you tell us?" Angelina asked. "We could've helped you!"

"There's nothing you can do," Katie ground out, staring at the ground. "I know I have never asked you all to meet me in person since all this has happened, but I really needed to talk to you in person... before I leave."

Everyone stood in stunned silence for a moment. "Leave?" Dean echoed quietly.

"Leave what? And to where?" Seamus asked.

Katie's lips quivered slightly, and her voice shook as she responded. "I'm leaving the Ministry while I still can. It's only a matter of days – maybe hours – before they figure out that it's me. When they see I've gone, they'll know for sure, but I'll be long gone by then." Katie was trembling now, close to tears. "I'm going to live as a muggle, and hopefully they won't be able to find me."

Neville stared at Katie incredulously for a moment. "But, Katie, you've kept up the act this long. Why not let this blow over and keep going? We'll be lost without someone on the inside."

Katie shook her head, seeming to gain her composure. "It's too late for that. I've already left now, and I can't go back. There's even the chance I'm being followed here, considering how closely I've been watched. I can't let someone else take the blame on the off-chance they don't realize it was me, and I can't risk being caught and giving away information about you all. And you'll be fine without me," she added. "I can only do so much without giving myself away. You'll probably have even more flexibility, actually."

"But where will you go?" George asked. "If you're on the Ministry's radar, there's a pretty low chance that they won't locate you sooner or later."

"You've managed pretty well," Katie smiled, and George shrugged in reply.

"Katie," Neville said seriously, "we don't want to lose touch with you. You've helped us all these years; let us help you. Michael Corner is in charge of relocating people into spots where the Ministry can't find them. He can help you get to a safe place."

"No, Neville," she replied. "The fewer people that know where I am, the safer we all are. I know the Ministry's weaknesses better than anyone. I can get to safety. Thanks, though."

"Will we ever see you again?" Cho asked, feeling a wave of sorrow wash over her at the thought of losing another friend.

"Of course you will," Katie said reassuringly, wiping at her damp eyes. "When this is all over, I'll come back, and we can catch up. I have so much to tell you, Cho," she smiled. Cho nodded, blinking back tears of her own.

"Now, down to business," Katie said, her entire demeanor changing to one of professionalism. Cho guessed that this was her 'Ministry Personality'. "I'm going to say this quickly and then get out, so listen carefully." She reached into her pocket and pulled out a piece of parchment and handed it to Neville. "I found Dennis. He was bought from Augustus Sparrow's slave shop by a member of the Goyle family. Felix Goyle is his name. His address and directions to his house, as well as a list of precautions to take, are on that paper. Be careful; his home is in the heart of Ministry territory, so I'd use Polyjuice if I were you."

"Got it," Neville said firmly.

"Good. Now, I've managed to unearth a few pieces of information while looking for Dennis." Katie's eyes grew bright, and she started talking faster in her excitement. "Neville, I can't tell you much in case anyone's listening, but you need to find Dennis. It's more important than we ever imagined. Finding him could be the turning point in this war."

"What do you mean by that?" Nigel asked.

Katie shook her head, looking flustered. "I'm afraid to say more. Just... the underground movement. You get them on your side, and you've got a fighting chance. More than a fighting chance. Dennis can tell you a lot more, and he'll understand when you tell him what I've said. But you need him and his people on your side."

Dean Thomas was beginning to look confused. "His people?"

"I told you, I can't explain now." Katie looked over her shoulder again, growing visibly more nervous by the minute. "They could be here any minute."

"They?" Seamus demanded.

"Like I said, I'm being watched closely. Any strange behavior is immediately reported to Thicknesse, so I wouldn't be surprised if he comes down here himself when they realize I'm gone." She fixed her eyes on Neville. "Listen, there's –"

"What about Hermione?" George interrupted. "Is there any sign of her?"

Katie bit her lip and gave George an apologetic look. "I'm sorry, guys, but I've been so busy trying to track Dennis down and keep the Ministry from noticing, I haven't gotten much of a chance to look for Hermione."

"Don't you even have any ideas?" George pleaded.

"I'm sorry," she said simply. "I've done what I can." There was a sudden rustle from a bush nearby, and Katie jumped closer to the group. "I've got to get out of here," she whispered hoarsely. "They're coming, and they can't find us here."

Nigel opened his mouth to ask a question, but Katie cut him off. "Remember: find Dennis and get him to help you. To stay safe, everyone Apparate somewhere other than your hideout, then there. It's safer that way, and much harder for them to track you that way."

"They can track –?"

"They can do all sorts of things," Katie muttered, pulling her hood around her face and giving them all a sorrowful glance. "I'm sorry I can't do more, but I've done my best. I'm sorry I'm running away."

"Don't apologize for anything," Neville ordered. "You've gone above and beyond the call of duty. You just stay safe. If you ever need anything, contact us."

"I will," Katie said, then nodded, giving Cho a small smile before saying a simple, "Goodbye," and Apparating off to somewhere beyond.

The seven Order members probably would have stood in their spots a while longer, simply pondering Katie's words, but another bush rustled loudly. They collectively started, and Neville said in a low voice, "Everyone Apparate somewhere else, then back home again. We need those wards up quick."

The other six members nodded sharply, and each vanished in a cloud of motion and magic. Cho lingered just a moment longer, looking at the spot where Katie had disappeared before deciding on her next location – the place everything seemed to happen. Grimmauld Place.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Theodore stretched his arms above his head, sighing loudly for what seemed like the hundredth time. It had been almost an hour since he had used Draco's floorplan to get to Grimmauld Place, and he was already feeling tired. He knew he could always come back any time just by Apparating, but this would be his last night with the floorplan in tow, and that was his only alibi if someone were to find him skulking around there.

Theodore was halfway convinced to just come back another night, portkey or no, when a sound jolted him from his thoughts. Wide awake, he peeked his head around the corner and squinted, trying to make out what the source of the rushing noise was.

A glance west told Theodore everything he needed to know. Someone in a dark blue cloak had just Apparated into the space not ten feet away from his hiding spot. _How lucky can a guy get?_

The figure wobbled for a moment as they recovered from their Apparition, then slumped to the ground, covering their face with their hands and, though muffled, crying softly.

That action was quite unexpected to Theodore, who froze halfway through coming out from behind his favorite column. He tried not to breathe, so as not to alert the crying figure to his presence. From the sounds of the sobs, he guessed that it was a she, but he didn't recognize the cloak or the straight black hair that had fallen away from her hood. He stored the information away to ponder another time, choosing instead to focus on the moment.

The figure finally gave one last sob and wiped her eyes with her sleeve, raising her head to look straight ahead. The movement started Theodore, and he ducked behind the column abruptly. The girl noticed, and Theodore made a mental note to practice being sneaky.

She rose quickly, sniffling and pulling out her wand defensively. Theodore tried to think quickly. Apparating was too dangerous; if she were able to stop him, he could splinch. Fighting was risky, too, because all he really wanted was answers. If this girl could give him some friendly information, he didn't want to antagonize her.

His overthinking cost him. No sooner had Theodore decided to step out and declare his intentions did the girl jump out from the other side of the column. _Cho Chang!_ Theodore realized as he crashed to the ground, the latest subject of Cho's petrifying spell.

She gave him a scrutinizing glare, as if trying to remember who he was. Realization dawned across her face, and Theodore saw anger and resentment flash in her eyes. Of course she didn't know he was on her side. She still thought he was with the Ministry. For the first time in his life, Theodore suddenly wished that he wasn't a Slytherin.

Cho raised her wand, and from the hateful look she was giving him, it occurred to Theodore that he was probably about to die. If his mouth hadn't been frozen from her _Petrificus Totalus,_ he would have explained that he wanted to help her and her people, but he couldn't.

Cho glared fiercely at Theodore for several more moments, and Theodore could only helplessly look back at her from his spot on the ground. He wasn't sure how to project innocence with just his eyeballs, but he did his best.

It must have worked. Cho lowered her wand and softened her glare just a bit, glancing at the ground around Theodore. Her eyes suddenly widened, and she stooped to pick something up off the ground. When she straightened and began turning the paper over in her hands, Theodore's brain instantly began racing.

The floorplan.

Cho gave Theodore a curious look but didn't say anything. Flipping the paper over again, she raised her eyebrows and shoved the paper in her pocket, raising her wand at Theodore again.

Cho was smart. She backed up as far as she could go and still see him in the darkness, then raised her wand and removed the body-bind curse. Theodore's joints felt stiff and his legs wobbly, but he managed to get to his feet and feebly shout, "Wait!"

But she was already gone, Apparated off to somewhere Theodore had no way of finding out. Not only did she have the floorplan, but Theodore doubted that Cho Chang or anyone else from the Order would be back to Grimmauld Place after she encountered him there. He let out a growl of frustration.

Draco was going to kill him.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"So what do you usually do for Christmas?"

Draco rolled his eyes and sighed. It seemed that Hermione couldn't get through a single conversation without bringing up some sort of painful topic. They were sitting at the kitchen table, well past midnight, enjoying some of the first appetizing food they had had since Hermione had been there.

He tried not to sound too sardonic. "I don't really do anything."

Hermione gave him a sympathetic look. "Really?"

"Yeah. My family never celebrated it much other than a party for my parents and their friends. The first time I remember seeing a Christmas tree was at Hogwarts. Once I moved out on my own, there wasn't any real reason to celebrate any holidays. It got worse after the curse."

"Well, that ends this year," Hermione said boldly. "Christmas is one of the only celebrations we have in the Order, and it's my favorite time of year. I think you'll enjoy celebrating."

Draco rested his elbows on the table and propped his chin under his hands. "And how exactly do you plan to do that, Granger?" he asked. "In case you haven't noticed, we're still stuck in the house, and I don't exactly have an abundance of Christmas supplies laying around."

"Oh, that's all right," she smiled. "I can make do."

Draco shook his head and leaned back in his chair. "You do that. I'll stick to potions."

Hermione nodded absently and started picking up their plates and cups off the little table. "Malfoy?" she asked a moment later.

"Hmm."

"You are going to join the Order once we're free, aren't you?"

Draco groaned a little. "I thought we already had this conversation."

"Not this exact one," she replied, turning the water faucet on and rolling up her sleeves to start washing the dishes. Draco stood and rolled up his own sleeves to help her. "You said you'd do all you can to help us and that you'd get Dennis on our side, but you've never actually said if you're going to join the Order or not."

Draco sighed again and picked up a wash rag to wipe off a fork. "It's not that simple, Granger."

"What's not that simple?" she pressed. "Once the Order sees all you've done and they hear what I have to say about you, everything will be forgiven."

"Everything?" Draco repeated bitterly. "Even this?" He set down the fork and wash rag and twisted to face Hermione, turning the underside of his forearm up.

His Dark Mark. Hermione had all but forgotten about it, but she suspected that was an impossibility for Draco. The skin around the mark was scarred just like his face, and red veins stood out starkly from his pale skin, no doubt from being summoned and remaining bound to the house.

Hermione sighed, setting down the plate she had been drying. She gently took his hand in hers, trying to meet his gaze even though he refused to look at her.

"Draco," she said softly and without accusation. "Everyone in the Order has done terrible things for our cause. Neville killed an innocent man a few years ago because the man recognized him and Neville was on edge already. For months after that, he begged me to lead the Order because he said he wasn't fit to. Angelina was sent on a solo mission to get one of Pomfrey's grandchildren out of a slave market, but another slave was punished and killed after being blamed for the escape. That's haunted her ever since. I once burned down someone's house to keep them from looking at their records and figuring out who I was. If anyone in the Order refuses to forgive you, they're nothing but a hypocrite."

Draco scoffed a little, still looking at the floor. "Has anyone in the Order been Voldemort's right-hand man? Have any of them murdered innocent people just because of their blood status? Have they murdered their schoolmates? Their teachers? Are they haunted every day by eternal punishment for their mistakes?"

"Draco, please!" Hermione cried out. The pain in her voice made him stop what he was saying and bring his gaze to meet hers. A tear had begun to fall from the corner of one of her eyes. "Draco," she whispered, "your mistakes don't define you. You made the choice to turn your back on Voldemort. You risked your life for Dennis and the underground and the Order. If anything, this punishment is a symbol of your loyalty to the good, not a reminder of the dark side! Don't let your past stop you from your future!"

Draco shook his head, fighting back tears of his own. "I wish I could believe that."

"You can," she implored him. "You can."

They stood like that for a moment longer, Hermione pleading with her eyes and Draco looking for all the world like a hopeless prisoner. Hermione finally let go of his hand and returned to washing the next plate, discreetly wiping her eyes.

Draco tried to think of something else to say. "You know, even if the Order does win and they get you out, I still won't be able to join. I'll be stuck here. I mean, I can make potions for anyone who needs them, but I'm still bound to this house."

Hermione's voice sounded stronger now. "Draco, the minute Voldemort dies, you'll be free from your curse. At least, I assume that's how it works."

Draco sighed, contemplating the weight of his next sentence. "That may be so, but I'll never get the chance to find out."

"What do you mean?" she asked, eyeing him suspiciously.

"Voldemort can't die unless I die."

Hermione felt a chill run through her bones. "What?"

Draco hesitated only a moment. "Because... I'm a Horcrux."

He said it casually, not even looking up from the knife he was polishing. Hermione felt her hands go numb, and she dropped her plate with a crash, sending pointed shards all over the kitchen floor. Her head felt like it was going to explode. She knew she must look foolish with her mouth hanging open, but she couldn't help it. _Draco Malfoy was a Horcrux._

He frowned, setting down his knife and reaching out to grip her forearm. "Are you all right?"

She shook her head wildly, trying to form a cohesive thought in the midst of the ones swirling through her brain. She reached for the counter to steady herself. "You're... you're... how can that be? Malfoy, how can that be!?"

Draco shrugged as nonchalantly as he could, leaning one hand on the counter next to her. "Well, after you and Potter and Weasley destroyed his first seven Horcruxes, and then after Potter died, Voldemort knew he needed more. He created three more, which I managed to destroy before the curse. I don't think he knows I'm the one who did it." He took a deep breath. "Anyway, when he cursed me to be trapped in this house for the rest of my life, he decided to make me his new Horcrux. As far as I know, I'm the only one. It seemed like a foolproof plan, really; no one is allowed in, I'm not allowed out, so the chances of my being harmed are practically none. As long as I'm imprisoned here, his life is safe. I'm technically immortal now, and so is he. That's the big secret I was waiting to tell you, Hermione. I just... I wasn't sure how to tell you."

Hermione appeared stunned out of her wits. It was several moments before she could find her voice. "So that's why you couldn't commit suicide."

"That's right. He's got some enchantment over me, because that was the first thing I tried to do when I woke up in here after the curse. The only way to kill a Horcux is with Basilisk venom, and that's not exactly in abundant supply."

"And that's why your mother rushed in here that day when I found you in the basement!" Hermione exclaimed. Everything was suddenly falling into place. "She heard that Voldemort had been wounded, and she knew you would have felt it! That’s why you collapsed like you had been injured!"

"Exactly," Draco said.

Hermione shook her head in wonderment. How had she not put it together? The clues had been right in front of her all along! However, her astonishment quickly gave way to dread once she really started thinking over Draco's words.

"Draco..." she said haltingly. "That means... that means you'll have to die if Voldemort is going to die."

"I already said that."

"But... if you can't commit suicide, someone will have to kill you."

"I know."

"And you can't leave the house..."

"...and you're the only one in here with me all the time," he finished. "You'll probably be the one to have to do it, Hermione."

Hermione's eyes widened at the thought, and she clapped her hands over her mouth to suppress the sob that had suddenly lodged itself in her throat. "No, Draco... no, I couldn't! I could never kill you!"

"You could," he said calmly. "I've gotten used to the idea. You will, too."

"But... but I..."

He shook his head. "It doesn't matter. You're strong enough to do it. I don't know exactly how we'll get it done, but we'll figure out something. I can probably get Blaise or Theodore to find something that will work, and we'll use that."

"Draco..." Hermione choked out. "Don't talk like this. I can't even stand the thought..."

She found that she couldn't finish. Feeling an overwhelming wave of emotion hit her, Hermione left Draco standing at the kitchen sink and ran to her bedroom. Some time later, when her sobs had stopped and she was lying on her bed pondering the flood of information she had learned, she heard Draco passing her room on his way to the staircase. She wondered what he was thinking, if he was turning over the day's events in his mind. He probably wouldn't cry. He seemed too resigned to his fate to be upset about it.

Similarly, Hermione's crying had given way to a new emotion: resolve. "I'll find a way to save you, Draco Malfoy," she whispered into the darkness. "I'll find a way to save you if it's the last thing I do."


	12. The Gathering Storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's here, friends - my favorite chapter of this fic!! I think you'll understand why :) This is a really special piece to me, even though I love them all. Thanks so much for sticking with the story, and I hope you'll stay until the end; it's not far away now! As always, please read, review, and enjoy!!

Diagon Alley was practically buzzing on Saturday morning, and Neville shouldered his way through the crowd, trying to look purposeful but not noteworthy. He was currently using Polyjuice Potion to impersonate a muggleborn man named Norville, which Neville probably would have found amusing had the situation been less stressful. Neville had approximately six hours left until the potion wore off, but he wasn’t terribly worried about that.

Neville and four Order members – Penelope, Nigel, Padma, and Michael – had used five vials of the precious little Polyjuice Potion the Order possessed, and all five of them had deployed into various locations to hunt for clues. Penelope and Michael were currently scouting out the area around Felix Goyle’s house per Katie’s last instructions, and Padma and Nigel had taken the more dangerous job of obtaining a list of slave sales from the Ministry. Now that Dennis’ location had been discovered, Neville wanted to give more attention to Hermione’s situation, which he had regrettably been forced to neglect in the recent frenzy of excitement.

Neville was the only one out without a partner, and though Luna had offered to accompany him, he argued that someone needed to keep order within the Order (he had smiled at the pun); besides, they couldn’t spare the Polyjuice. His job wasn’t that difficult or dangerous anyway; going through slave markets and keeping his ears open for any informative news that might be flying around. Something definitely had stirred up the flood of wizards and witches in Diagon Alley, as nearly everyone was talking about the same topic of interest.

“Did you hear?” a middle-aged woman asked secretively. “The Ministry’s gone into a panic over this whole scandal.”

“Scandal?” another scoffed. “It’s an embarrassment. The most powerful institution in the Wizarding World, and they can’t even keep a handle on their staff. It’s disgraceful, if you ask me.”

Neville could only hide a smile as he pushed further into the crowd. Just outside of Borgin and Burkes, a bespectacled elderly wizard said to another, “I used to see that girl near every day. She always seemed so pleasant and collected. Never would have suspected. No, I surely never would have suspected.”

The other man nodded in response but caught Neville standing close by and listening. He raised his eyebrows at his friend, and the two men walked away, leaving Neville to turn away and head in another direction. Everyone was suddenly suspicious of everyone, and Neville knew exactly why.

Katie Bell’s defection the day before had caused an uproar in the wizarding community the likes of which hadn’t been seen since Voldemort took control. Everyone’s worldview had been flipped inside-out; a mole in the Ministry meant active enemies to the Ministry, and that set everyone on edge. Neville knew he needed to be careful listening to people’s harried conversations, but he derived a certain amount of satisfaction knowing that the world now knew that the spark was not dead.

There was still hope. Neville could feel it pulsing everywhere he went; hope was at the heart of every conversation between every gossiping mother and drawling storekeeper. Even those who were involved in the Ministry and its derivatives were obviously excited by the news, and not just because it was unusual. A large number of people who claimed to be loyal to the Wizarding World’s new government were secretly wishing for change, and it struck a chord of hope in Neville’s heart. This is what the Order fought for. This is what they died for.

Neville cast a solemn smile at the ground. He wished he could talk to Hermione about it all. In the days before her disappearance, she had seemed so restless, so ready for a bit of news to light a spark of hope back into the Order’s actions. Neville tried to imagine what she would be doing right now, with Katie’s revelations and defection. _She would be more excited than anyone,_ he thought sadly.

Not for the first time, Neville wondered where Hermione really was. Of course, everyone had theories – some thought she had been captured or killed, while others thought she could be hiding out and waiting to make a move. Neville was sure that she hadn’t simply given up; Hermione was too dedicated for that. He wished so much that he could find her and tell her what she meant to the Order.

Her statements in her last Order meeting echoed back in Neville’s mind, when she had implied that she was the most expendable member. Neville thought about George Weasley, pacing the floors at all hours of the night while he worried about Hermione. Angelina Johnson was obviously racked with guilt over some of the things she had said to Hermione. Neville, too, felt guilty for taking Hermione for granted; Luna was a close confidante of his, but Hermione had been his right hand. He felt strange giving out orders without her there to back him up.

_Hermione, wherever you are, we’re not giving up on you_ , Neville thought. _I’m not giving up._

Tightening his jaw with resolve, Neville straightened his shoulders and strode ahead into Diagon Alley.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

_Aim, push, release. Aim, push, release._

Over and over, Hermione kept the mantra going through her mind. She had taken to using wandless magic to do her cleaning, and she found that working distracted her from her intrusive thoughts. The scrub brush moved back and forth across the stone floor of the empty third floor room, the wandless magic saving her hands from the toll the brush normally took.

Draco Malfoy was a Horcrux. Two days later, the news was still almost too much for Hermione to process. When she wasn’t aggressively blocking out her thoughts, she ran over and over her newfound information in her head, wondering how she hadn’t guessed it in the first place. Now that she knew, it seemed to be the obvious answer to all her previously unanswered questions, but, then again, why would she have guessed something so horrendous?

A Horcrux. Hermione tried to think of everything she and Harry and Ron had learned about Horcruxes when they were searching for Voldemort’s first set. Horcruxes were only created by a cold-blooded murder, and Hermione couldn’t help but wonder who it was that died for Voldemort’s immortality. Perhaps Lucius? Hermione hadn’t heard anything about him since she arrived; maybe Draco’s own father had paid the price for Voldemort’s soul.

There were several ways to destroy a Horcrux, but Draco was right: Basilisk venom was the most logical solution to Draco’s condition. The thought made Hermione want to vomit, but what other option did they have? If the Order was to prevail and right the wrongs done by Voldemort, the dark lord himself would have to die first, and Draco before him. And since practically no one had access to him but Hermione, she would indeed probably be the one to do it. It was a sickening thought.

So she tried not to think about it. _Aim, push, release. Aim, push, release._

Wandless magic wasn’t making her any calmer. In fact, it was only serving to irritate her anxieties more, since every swipe of the scrub brush made her remember all the time they had spent working together in the past months.

_Why?_ Hermione thought, stopping the scrub brush’s movements. _Why does everyone I love have to die?_

And there it was. Hermione had skimmed past the thought many times, trying to ignore it, but she didn’t stop herself this time. Despite all odds, the stars in their courses and fate itself, she was in love with him. Against everything she had every known and felt, she had fallen in love with Draco Malfoy, her sworn enemy.

And the worst part was that it had been so _easy_. A mere three months had passed since Hermione came to live in Draco’s house, and it had taken him less time than that to break down every wall she had built, every misgiving she held toward him. Granted, it had been much easier after she discovered that he was fighting on her side, but she still had seen past him and everything he had always been, and she loved him. _How strange_ , she thought, _to be able to change one’s mind so quickly about a person_.

She felt tears spring into her eyes but blinked them back. A vision of Harry and Ron, of the Order, of all the loved ones she had lost, appeared in her mind, and she wondered what they would say if they knew she had fallen in love with the enemy.

_But he’s not the enemy,_ she reminded herself. _He’s on our side_. The thought gave her little comfort, though, for another quickly rose to take its place.

_And now I have to let him go._

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Ernie MacMillan had not changed much in eight years, a fact that both surprised and delighted Penelope Clearwater when she saw him. He was sitting outside a small library, immersed in a book and oblivious to the world. Penelope did a double take when she saw him, but when Michael Corner confirmed her original thought, she could hardly contain her excitement. She hadn’t seen Ernie since Voldemort took over, but he was well-known for his work at the _Daily Prophet_. Ernie, pure-blooded as he was, was not an open supporter of Voldemort, but he had never made an effort to oppose Voldemort or help the Order. Still, he could be a valuable ally if he were willing, and Penelope and Michael decided to take advantage of their happening upon him.

The two Ravenclaws carefully edged toward Ernie, who remained still as he read. When they got within speaking distance, Ernie briefly glanced up at them before returning to his book. However, he suspiciously raised his eyebrows at them when Penelope took a seat across from him.

“Hi there, mate. Didn’t you used to go to Hogwarts?” she asked, trying to alter the sound of her voice to match her unfamiliar face.

Ernie gave her a puzzled look. “Didn’t we all?” he countered.

Penelope shrugged, gesturing to Michael, who sat down at the table as well. “My friend and I just thought we recognized you,” she remarked casually. “MacMillan, isn’t it?”

Ernie relaxed a bit more but still looked suspicious. Penelope didn’t blame him, not with the news about Katie Bell still flying about like mad. “That’s right. Ernie MacMillan. And you?”

“Hezekiah Smith,” Michael replied smoothly. “Ravenclaw. Ella and I didn’t know you that well, but we thought we recognized you.”

Ernie’s brow furrowed at the names that Michael had made up on the spot. “Hezekiah Smith,” he repeated, looking at Michael curiously. “I knew a Zacharias Smith, but he’s been dead for years.”

Michael shook his head but kept a disarming smile on his face. “Nah, no relation. You probably just don’t remember us. It’s fine; we were a couple of years ahead of you.”

Ernie nodded slowly, still deep in thought. Penelope spoke up, “I used to see you a lot with the Abbott girl and that other boy. What was his name?” she asked Michael.

“Justin,” Michael answered, keeping the charade going.

Ernie’s eyes lit up when his two best friends’ names were mentioned. “Yeah! Hannah and Justin. Merlin, it’s been so long…” He trailed off, obviously remembering his days at Hogwarts.

Michael didn’t waste any time. “What ever happened to those two?” he asked casually.

“Oh.” Ernie’s smile disappeared. “Well, Hannah’s still around. She and I dated for a while, but that was a few years ago. She owns the Leaky Cauldron now, actually.”

“And Justin?” Penelope pressed, trying not to let on how interested she was.

Ernie swallowed and cleared his throat. “Um… Justin died, too. Killed, actually. It wasn’t long after the war ended. He was helping some… well, I don’t know exactly what he was doing, just that he was killed by Death Eaters.”

This, of course, was not news to Penelope or Michael, as Justin had been fighting for the Order when he was killed, but they feigned surprise and made sympathetic sounds at Ernie’s statement.

“I’m sorry,” Penelope said. “I had forgotten all about that.”

Ernie shrugged, resuming his previously casual demeanor. “’S fine. It was a long time ago.”

“I remember something about the… Order? Was that right?” Penelope directed her question at Michael, but she was hoping Ernie would answer.

He hesitated but answered anyway. “Yeah. Yeah, I think so.”

Penelope pressed on. “Funny, isn’t it? You’d never know about some of them. Justin never seemed the type to fight in a rebellion to me. Did he to you?”

“Did he what?”

“Seem the type to fight in a rebellion?” Penelope repeated. She knew she was pushing her limits, but time was of the essence and Ernie wasn’t moving quickly enough.

Ernie’s walls seemed to come back up, and he shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe, maybe not. You never can tell about a person.”

Michael tried to recover the relaxed atmosphere that had been lost. “Isn’t that the truth. Did you hear about Katie Bell and the whole undercover bit in the Ministry?” Ernie didn’t reply, so Michael continued. “Yeah, I must have seen Katie a million times at Hogwarts. Went out with her once. She always seemed so… unassuming, wouldn’t you say so?”

“Definitely,” Penelope replied.

Ernie eyed them both gingerly before nodding once. He was obviously getting suspicious, but Penelope didn’t blame him; they were sounding like Ministry spies, and Ernie was too smart to be caught in a trap.

Michael didn’t seem to be concerned about coming on too strongly now. “Who would have thought the Order still exists, eh?”

Ernie narrowed his eyes. “Who said the Order still exists?”

“Well, it seems pretty logical to me,” Michael commented, leaning back in his chair. “I mean, Katie had to be spying on the Ministry for someone. She was always in tight with the Order and the D.A. Seems logical that she was working for the Order, doesn’t it?”

“Well, I don’t know…” Ernie mumbled.

Michael leaned forward suddenly. “Well, who else would she be working for?” Penelope put her hand on his arm, cautioning him to be careful, but Michael kept staring at Ernie intently.

Ernie wasn’t having it. “What is this, an interrogation?” he demanded. “I don’t ruddy know. What do you think I am, some kind of spy, too? You think I’m in on this?”

Penelope spoke gently, trying to calm Ernie down. “Of course not, Ernie. We were just wondering if you knew any more than we do. We’ve been away traveling for a while, and we aren’t too caught up on what’s been going on, that’s all.”

But Ernie was stirred up now. “Oh, is that so? Well, listen to this. I don’t remember any Hezekiah Smith or Ella whatever-your-name-is, and you look about as familiar as a Dementor’s Patronus to me. I don’t have anything to do with any of this mess, so just leave me alone!”

Michael shot up out of his seat, catching Ernie’s arm before the latter could walk away. “Ernie, believe me, we’re on your side. You don’t have to be afraid of us.”

Ernie looked unconvinced and terrified, so Penelope continued, “All we want to know is if we can trust you or not.”

“Trust me?” Ernie echoed, his defensive expression morphing into one of confusion. “Who are you? What do you want?”

Michael and Penelope exchanged a look, and Michael nodded affirmatively as Ernie looked on in bewilderment.

“We’re from the Order, Ernie,” Penelope said. “The Order is still alive.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“Hannah!” Ernie shouted, shoving aside a disgruntled customer to the Leaky Cauldron. “Hannah, where are you?”

Penelope and Michael followed close behind him as he weaved in and out of the crowded tables at the pub. Ernie was beside himself with excitement at discovering that the Order – and so many of his friends whom he had thought were dead – were alive and in need of his help. Ernie had insisted on going straight to the Leaky Cauldron to tell Hannah the news, a sentiment that Penelope and Michael had reluctantly accepted.

Ernie’s eyes lit up when he found Hannah, her long blonde hair pulled up into a bun and a tired smile on her face. She nodded to Michael and Penelope as Ernie hauled them up to the bar Hannah stood behind.

“Hannah, I have incredible news,” Ernie practically shouted. “I –”

Michael shushed his friend with a hand gesture. “Ernie, not here.”

Ernie thought for a second and nodded, leaning in to the counter and motioning for Hannah to come closer. She did so, eyeing Michael and Penelope suspiciously and looking confused at Ernie’s enthusiasm. “Hannah,” Ernie said in a quieter tone, “do you have some place where we can talk privately?”

Hannah raised a skeptical eyebrow. “I’m running a business, Ernie. I can’t just rush off and leave my customers.”

Ernie gave a frustrated sigh, reached across the counter, and grabbed Hannah’s shoulders, pulling her close enough that he could whisper in her ear. Michael and Penelope watched awkwardly from Ernie’s side, but Hannah’s eyes widened after a moment, and she gave the pair an astonished look.

“How is it possible?” Hannah whispered, more to herself than anyone else. She turned her gaze back on Ernie and said in a low voice, “Give me five minutes, and I’ll meet you in Knockturn Alley.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Hermione had managed to avoid Draco all day, hoping not to have to talk about the whole Horcrux situation for awhile. But it wasn’t to be, for no sooner had she come down the staircase to the first floor, spell book tucked under her arm with the intent of studying up on anything she could find, did she see Draco himself, his back to her as he faced the door of the entryway.

Hermione thought about just turning around and going to her room to read before he noticed her, but she decided against it and continued down the steps. Draco didn’t turn around or give any indication that he knew she was there, but when she reached the doorway of the living room, he suddenly spoke.

“Granger.” His voice startled her just a bit, and she turned to face him, his eyes still locked on the door to the outside.

“Malfoy,” she replied softly. “What are you looking for?”

His voice held traces of irritation, and he restlessly tapped his foot on the floor. “The two sods who claim to be my best friends but who decided not to show up today with my floorplan. It’s been a day and a half, and there’s been no sign of Blaise or Theodore.”

Hermione furrowed her brow and took a step toward Draco. “I hope nothing’s happened to them.”

Her comment made Draco turn an amused smile on her. “Don’t tell me you’re starting to grow fond of two more despicable Slytherins, Granger.”

His tone was teasing, so Hermione chuckled and replied, “I guess they’ve grown on me a little. Certainly helps knowing they could be my link to the Order.”

“I’ve been thinking about that,” Draco answered, turning to face her with a serious expression. “From some of the things they told me the other day, it sounds like something’s been stirred up in the Ministry. Thicknesse knows there’s a mole, so he’s got everything practically on lockdown. I pray to heaven that floorplan doesn’t get discovered by him.”

Hermione frowned. “Are you positive Theodore had it?”

Draco shrugged. “Who else? Besides, he’s got no reason to lie about it that I know of.”

“Say the floorplan did fall into enemy hands. What would happen then?”

“Lots of things,” Draco said. “First, they would probably question Theodore, Blaise, and anybody associated with them to get as much information as they could. Once they found out it belonged to me, they would go crazy trying to figure out who created the portkey.”

“Didn’t you create it?” Hermione asked.

“No, Dennis did. It was before I was caught, so I was the only one who used it, but the portkey was his idea. That’s what worries me.” Draco sighed, running a hand through his hair. “If they can somehow trace it to Dennis, it would incriminate him as my partner-in-crime. I know you said he was captured, but as long as no one finds out his connection to me or the underground movement, he’s safe enough.”

“How much do Blaise and Theodore know about Dennis and the underground?” Hermione queried. “If they know too much, they could be put under Veritaserum or Legilimency and save the Ministry the trouble of tracing Dennis’ magic.”

“That’s why I’ve been so careful,” Draco replied, sounding slightly less worried at the thought. “Blaise and Theodore know just enough to get by. I’m not even sure if they know Katie Bell is the mole. They might have figured it out by now, but I haven’t told them. It’s just too dangerous. As far as I know, they don’t know anything about Dennis’ involvement with the underground.”

“Good,” Hermione replied. She was quiet for a moment before adding, “It seems you’ve thought of everything.”

He gave a humorless laugh. “I’ve certainly had time to think. If you think it’s dull here now, you should have seen it the five years before you came.”

Hermione shook her head. “My time here has been anything but boring, if you’ll recall.”

“That’s true.” Draco simply looked at her for a moment, her eyes cast to the floor and her fingers playing at the edge of the book she was holding. “I’m sorry I sprung that news on you the way I did the other night, Hermione.” She looked up at him, and he continued, his voice shaking ever so slightly. “I wasn’t planning on telling you, but I’m glad I did. It’ll give you some time to process it before anything actually has to happen.”

He was skirting around the words, and they both knew it. She didn’t give him a chance to elaborate. “I’m not going to give up so easily, Draco,” she said resolutely. “I’ve been thinking, and there has to be some way to get around this.”

“Get around it?” Draco echoed. “Granger, I’ve spent five years thinking of ways to avoid dying. It’s just the only way. If Voldemort is to be defeated, I have to die first.”

“I know that,” Hermione declared. “But I did a lot of research on Horcruxes when Harry and Ron and I were searching for Voldemort’s first set. If there’s one thing that’s for certain about magic, it’s that there’s always some kind of reversal. Maybe there’s some way we could kill the Horcrux inside of you but let the rest of you live on. Maybe we could somehow transfer the Horcrux to something else and destroy that. Maybe –”

“Slow down, Granger,” Draco said, placing his hands on her shoulders gently. She tried not to react to his touch, staring straight into his crystal-clear eyes instead. “I know you’re trying to find a way around the spell, but believe me, this is it. I’m a doomed man, and I have been ever since I made the decision to join Voldemort. And think about it this way: death is almost an escape for me. Even if we did find a way so I could live after the Horcrux is destroyed, what kind of life could I live? My face is so disfigured I’d probably be shot down by some well-meaning wizard who thought I was a beast from the forest. Besides, I’m known as a traitor to both sides. Whether I’ve helped the Order or not, I’ve done enough wrongs to spend the rest of my life atoning for them. And there’s always the off chance that Voldemort’s death won’t break the spell on the house, and I’ll still be stuck here, and so will you. When I die, you’ll be free, Voldemort will be vulnerable, the Wizarding World will have a chance to start over, and I’ll have finally paid the price for my wrongs.”

Hermione felt tears flowing freely down her cheeks as Draco spoke. He was so resigned to his fate, and it broke her heart. If only the Order could see him now, broken and ready to sacrifice himself for others. Was it even possible that this was the same arrogant git she had despised at Hogwarts? The same Death Eater who had unflinchingly killed his former teachers and friends? A lump caught in her throat, and she fought to keep her voice steady when she spoke.

“Draco Malfoy,” she said, “I have made a promise to myself that if there is any way on this whole earth that I can find to save you, I will do it. If I have to die myself, I’m going to let you finish your redemption. You’ve come so far, and I believe you can right this. I’ll do everything I can to keep you alive.”

Draco didn’t say anything, but his hands tightened on her shoulders, and his eyes spoke volumes to her weary soul. It was enough to make Hermione’s knees go weak.

She finally found her voice. “I’ve been scouring the books in my room and the tower, but none of them have anything even close to Horcruxes or counter-curses or anything like that. I’ll keep looking though, and I’ll let you know –”

Draco silenced her with a quick shake of his head. “Come with me,” he told her, taking her hand in one of his.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“Theodore Nott, you have done some utterly stupid things since I’ve known you, but this is more than I thought even you were capable of.”

Theodore shook his head, something that was difficult to do since his head was resting on his forearms on his office desk. Blaise had paid him a visit at the _Daily Prophet_ , suspicious after Theodore didn’t show outside Draco’s house the previous night. After hearing Theodore’s story about losing the floorplan at Grimmauld Place – to Cho Chang, of all people! – Blaise was livid.

“It wasn’t my fault.” Theodore’s voice was muffled, but Blaise had no trouble hearing him.

“Well, then, whose fault was it?” Blaise demanded, pacing Theodore’s office anxiously. He had put a silencing charm around the room so that no one could hear their conversation, but he felt capable of screaming loud enough to break the spell himself. “Did someone tell you to go to Grimmauld Place? And, while there, did someone tell you to take the floorplan along, because why not? Did this same person tell you it would be fine to leave the floorplan lying on the ground in plain view while you investigate a stranger skulking around at night? Is that it, Nott? You’re such an idiot.”

Theodore finally raised his head and looked at Blaise with eyes that looked as though they hadn’t seen sleep in days. “Blaise, I didn’t mean to lose the map. If I had known what was going to happen, I wouldn’t even have gone.”

“Yeah, and if I had known Voldemort was going to take over, I would have joined the Order while we were at Hogwarts.” Blaise’s voice dripped with thinly-veiled sarcasm.

“At least the Order has the floorplan!” Theodore shouted back. “It’s not like Thicknesse is the one who got hold of it. It was Cho Chang, and she’s got to be with the Order.”

“What if she’s not?”

“Who else would she be with? She’s certainly not working for the Ministry.”

“Fine,” Blaise conceded. “But what if it wasn’t really her? What if it was someone using Polyjuice to look like her?”

Theodore gave Blaise a scornful look. “Who would voluntarily disguise themselves as a war criminal?”

Blaise nodded and threw himself into a chair by Theodore’s desk. He few quiet for a few minutes before asking, “Theodore, are you positive that you’ve checked everywhere?”

Theodore sighed again, lowing his head onto his arms again. “What do you think I’ve been doing for the past two days? It’s all I’ve thought about. I can’t think of a single way to get in touch with the Order, especially now that the Katie Bell news is everywhere. I’ve already been given two assignments here at the _Prophet_ on Bell, and I haven’t even started them.”

Blaise leaned forward. “Granger.”

Theodore looked up. “What about Granger?”

“She can tell us how to get in touch with the Order.” Blaise’s eyes burned with intensity. “Theodore, we have to make a move, and the best way to do it is through Granger.”

“But if I talk to Granger, I’ll have to tell Draco about the floorplan,” Theodore muttered.

“So be it. You got yourself into this mess, now get yourself out.”

“Thanks ever so much, old buddy,” Theodore said sarcastically. “I can’t do it. Not just yet.”

Blaise rolled his eyes. “What difference does it make? Today, tomorrow, or a week from now, you’re not going to get the floorplan without talking to Granger first. Just tell Draco the truth.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because he’ll think I’ve failed him!”

“You have!”

“I told you, it’s not my fault!”

“It is your fault! If you hadn’t lied and said you didn’t have the floorplan with you when we were there on Wednesday –”

“Do you think I planned on this?”

“You never plan on anything! Well, Theodore Nott, Draco is my friend, and if he’s your friend, you’ll go over there and tell him the truth and beg his forgiveness!”

Theodore buried his head again, all out of arguments. “I just can’t do it, Blaise.”

Blaise sighed, looking disgusted yet somehow sympathetic. “Then I will.”

Theodore’s head jerked up for the third time. “No! Blaise, no. If it has to be done, I’ll do it myself.”

“Oh, really?” Blaise mocked.

“Yeah.” Theodore gave him a pleading look. “Just give me one more day to search. Maybe I’ll find something.”

“Theo–”

Theodore set his jaw. “One more day.”

Blaise held his defensive glare a moment longer and then sighed. He could never remember beating Theodore at a battle of wills. “Fine, Theo. One more day, and then we tell Draco what’s happened.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Luna Lovegood sat at the conference table in the main hall of the Fortress, humming and running over her list of protective wards around the manor. Parvati Patil was sorting through a cabinet full of potions, which were running dangerously low, when she asked, “How long have they been gone?”

Luna looked up distractedly and took a moment before replying, “I’m not sure. Probably close to six hours by now.”

“What could possibly take six hours?” Parvati asked worriedly.

Luna shrugged. “I don’t know. Neville said to send a search party after them if they weren’t back by midnight, and they have –” Luna pulled out her watch – “about seven more hours.”

“Seven hours,” Parvati repeated, plopping down in a chair opposite Luna. “The whole Fortress could be massacred in half that time.”

Luna smiled softly. “You don’t have to think of it that way, Parvati. We’re on the winning side, remember?”

Parvati scoffed. “Oh, to have your optimism, Luna. The winning side happens to be running dangerously low on provisions. Someone’s going to have to cook up another batch of Polyjuice Potion, or we’ll be out in no time at all.”

“Hermione always did that,” Luna remarked quietly.

“Yeah.” Parvati was unusually quiet. “I wonder where she is, if she’s even alive.”

Luna stared off into space for a short time, deep in thought. “I think she is. Hermione is a survivor. If anyone can make it out there alone for this long, it’s her.”

Parvati shrugged, resting her chin on her hand and letting her eyes close. Luna resumed her list-checking and humming, and all was peaceful for a little while.

Then the dam burst.

The entire conference room swirled with color as five people Apparated simultaneously. Luna and Parvati leaped to their feet, and Dean Thomas and Romilda Vane ran in from the next room to see what the commotion was. Everyone was talking at once, the five new arrivals chattering and laughing in delight. Neville sent Parvati and Dean to round up the rest of the Order, and within two minutes the Order was gathered in the conference room to hear the news. When everyone had taken a seat, Neville, still wearing that fellow Norville’s face, spoke.

“I don’t even know what to tell you all,” he said, a smile playing across his lips, “except that this has been the most successful mission we’ve had in years. A triumphant cheer rippled through the room, and Neville continued, sounding more encouraged than he had in a long time. “The Wizarding World has come alive since Katie defected. I don’t think anyone realized that there was any kind of hope of a fight against Voldemort, but this news has spread like wildfire and affected everyone. They can’t stop talking about it; it’s all in the newspapers and on every poster. It does bring an element of danger now that so many people know for sure that we exist, but it’s also brought hope, joy, and a willingness to fight that I’ve never seen before. We’ve been fighting for so long against the odds with no hope in sight, but I can tell you all without a doubt that our time is coming faster than we ever thought!”

The cheer started again, louder and more celebratory, and the Order members laughed, cried, hugged, jumped, and screamed for joy. Neville let them carry on for a few minutes, and when the noise died down, he announced, “Now, if we’ll all listen, there’s a lot more news and all of it important. Michael?”

Michael and Penelope stood from their chairs, their disguises mostly faded and their smiles wide enough to break their faces open. Penelope nodded at Michael, who began excitedly, “We definitely found Dennis’ location. He’s in Felix Goyle’s house. We didn’t get to talk to him, but we got a glimpse of him through a window. He’s obviously without magic and bound to the house, but he seems unharmed, and we’ve pulled off more dangerous missions than this. We should have him out in a day or two if we plan it right.”

The Order was in a cheering mood, for they all started up again as soon as Michael finished talking. Penelope had to shout to be heard over their voices. “That’s not all!” she declared. “This is the most important news of all. We were scouting the area around Goyle’s house when we happened upon Ernie MacMillan outside a shop. We approached him and made him mad enough to basically admit that he was on our side, and he couldn’t believe it was really us and that we were from the Order. He took us to the Leaky Cauldron – which Hannah Abbott owns, by the way – and she’s part of the underground movement! She’s a member! Ernie helps, too, but Hannah has been directly involved for years.”

“Are you serious?” Oliver Wood asked, looking awestruck.

“Yes!” Penelope squealed. “We now have a contact in the underground movement!”

“Did Hannah say why the underground hasn’t tried to get in touch with us all these years?” Millicent Bulstrode asked. “I mean, they’ve existed for nearly as long as we have, but they’ve never tried to collaborate with us.”

“If anything, they’ve kept themselves hidden from us,” Seamus added.

Michael nodded. “It’s been too dangerous. I don’t think we ever realized just how much danger Katie Bell put herself in to be our informant. Most of the underground members are just everyday citizens who wanted to join the fight against Voldemort. They’re even more secretive than we are, if you can believe it. That’s how they’ve lasted this long without being caught.”

“What exactly are their plans?” Neville asked seriously. “We’ve all risked our necks to rescue slaves, foil Ministry missions, and keep ourselves secret. What have these people been doing?”

“We don’t know exactly,” Penelope responded. “But we’re going to find out.”

“When?” George Weasley asked.

Penelope and Michael shared a knowing smile. “As soon as we rescue Dennis, I’d say,” Michael remarked.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Angelina Johnson demanded.

Penelope couldn’t keep from laughing in euphoria. “It means that Dennis is the leader of the underground movement!”

For a moment, the only sound in the room was Penelope and Michael giggling, as the rest of the Order was stunned into silence. Finally, Fleur Weasley found her voice and said, “Ees thees a joke?”

“It’s no joke, Fleur,” Michael smiled. “Hannah told us. He was captured about three months ago and sold in a slave market, but he’s been leading the movement for years. Kinda makes all the pieces fall into place, doesn’t it?”

No one knew what to say for several moments, but finally everyone was talking at once again. Neville shushed them once more. “There’s more news, guys,” he announced.

“About Hermione?” George asked.

“Yes,” Padma Patil answered for Neville. She and Nigel stood, each holding a stack of papers. “Here we have the list of sales for all slaves sold in the last four months. It was murder to get them, but Nigel and I managed.”

“Well?” Cho asked.

Padma shuffled through her stack of papers and selected the one she was looking for. “It says here that a fugitive muggleborn named Amelia Finberry was bought on September 15, 2005, by Mrs. Narcissa Malfoy.”

“What does that have to do with Hermione?” George asked, sounding frustrated.

“Just this.” Padma tossed the paper at him, and it slid across the table to land in front of him. “Look at that picture and tell me that isn’t Hermione Granger.”

George took one look at the paper before him before facing Neville. “Well? We know where she is. Let’s move.”

“There’s just one more thing, George,” Neville said. “The thing Cho brought back from Grimmauld Place.”

“What did you find out about it?” Cho asked excitedly.

“Not much,” Neville admitted. He pulled the paper from his pocket and examined it. “I took it to Borgin and Burkes to see if anyone knew anything about it, and the owner said it was the floorplan to a house. Apparently, several of these kinds of homes were built around the same time, so it could belong to any one of them. He said Dolohov owns one, and Malfoy, too.”

“Narcissa Malfoy?” Seamus asked.

“No, Draco,” Neville replied. “It would seem that the reason no one’s heard about him in years is that he and Voldemort had a sort of a falling out, you might say. Voldemort cursed him to have to stay in his house forever, which means this floorplan probably isn’t his.”

“Why?” Cho asked.

Neville frowned. “How would this get out of Malfoy’s house if he can’t leave?”

“No,” Cho amended, “I meant, why did Voldemort curse Malfoy? I thought Malfoy was a Death Eater.”

“He was,” Neville said. “But he isn’t anymore. The man at Borgin and Burkes just said that Malfoy did something to upset Voldemort.”

“What a surprise,” Angelina muttered.

“Why wouldn’t Voldemort just kill Malfoy instead of imprisoning him?” Nigel asked.

Neville shrugged. “I don’t know, guys. I wasn’t looking for answers on Malfoy – just Hermione, Dennis, and this floorplan.”

“I still say it was Theodore Nott who I saw at Grimmauld Place,” Cho stated.

“And I still say it’s impossible,” Dean retorted.

Neville sighed, rubbing his face wearily. The Polyjuice was wearing off, and he could feel his own face stretching back into place. “Let’s not get into that again. There’s no way of knowing if it was Theodore or not, and even if it was, it won’t do us any good. Nott’s on Voldemort’s side, so we don’t dare try to question him. Let’s just be glad we’ve made such big progress today.”

“Who are we going after first?” Millicent asked. “Dennis or Hermione?”

Neville thought for a moment. “Dennis’ situation seems to be under control for now. Let’s worry about Hermione.” He looked around the room thoughtfully, making plans in his head. “We’ll have to be secretive about it, so we can’t all go. George, you lead this one,” he said, a mischievous smile on his face. “I think you’re the most anxious of all of us to get to Hermione.”

George tried to hide his smile by looking away. “I’ll do it.”

“Good.” Neville rubbed his hands together. “It would seem that it’s time to pay a visit to Mrs. Narcissa Malfoy.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“Don’t worry, Mrs. Malfoy, I’ll be in contact with you as soon as I find anything out.”

“Excellent.” Narcissa gave Blaise a stern gaze. She had paid him a surprise visit at his home, just minutes after he arrived from talking to Theodore. “I’m not pleased that my son has been unnecessarily endangered.”

“I know, and I’m sorry,” Blaise said apologetically, “but Theodore and I are doing everything we can to track the portkey down.”

“Where does the portkey lead?”

Blaise hesitated, remembering Draco’s specific instructions to keep Narcissa as sheltered as possible for her own safety. “I don’t know that I should say –”

Narcissa’s expression turned harder. “I am Draco’s mother, Blaise. I’m not going to betray him.”

“Oh, I know that, Mrs. Malfoy!” Blaise exclaimed. He always felt under-intelligent when talking to Draco’s mother. “It’s just that… well, Draco has asked me not to endanger you by telling you too much.”

“Nonsense, I know what I’m doing.” Narcissa flashed a confident smile. “If you will recall, I’ve survived in this world longer than you have, Blaise Zabini.”

Blaise sighed. _Outwitted again._ “The portkey leads to Grimmauld Place.”

Narcissa frowned. “Grimmauld Place? But that’s… that’s where Draco was caught, is it not?”

“Yes,” Blaise nodded. “And his contact could be traced through the portkey.”

“Who is his contact?” Narcissa waited for an answer, and when none came, she sighed. “I suppose if Draco won’t tell me, you won’t, either.”

Blaise gave her an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Malfoy. It’s for your own safety; it really is.”

Narcissa sighed again, a sentimental smile crossing her face. “Many the times I’ve said that very thing to Draco. I suppose the tables have turned quite severely, haven’t they?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Blaise replied. “I’m doing all I can, I promise.”

Narcissa’s face relaxed a bit, and she allowed a smile. “Thank you, Blaise. I appreciate everything you’ve been doing. You’re a great comfort to me these days.”

Blaise smiled sadly. “I’m glad to hear that. I envy Draco having a mother who cares so deeply about him.”

Narcissa’s face resumed its normal reserved expression. “And I consider myself fortunate to have a young man whom I can consider my second son.” Blaise started to speak, but Narcissa continued, “And tell my third son that he had better find Draco’s floorplan.”

Blaise laughed hollowly. “He’s all but turned the world inside out trying to find it.”

Narcissa nodded, taking a step towards the door to indicate that she was ready to leave. “Thank you again, Blaise. Don’t endanger yourself trying to help Draco and I. The Ministry has its eye on all of us.”

“The same to you,” Blaise replied. “Would you like for me to see you home?”

“It’s not necessary, thank you, dear,” she said sincerely. “Goodnight.”

Blaise waved a goodbye to her as she Apparated away. Narcissa’s words gave him the incentive he needed to make his decision. Theodore or not, he was going to go to Draco’s house the first thing in the morning and find out exactly where the Order was hiding out.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“Fiendfyre is another option,” Hermione mused, flipping through the pages of a worn book. “It can be used in the place of Basilisk venom to destroy a Horcrux.”

“Marvelous,” Draco spat. “I can be burned to a crisp rather than consumed by a poison.”

Hermione gave him an exasperated look but withheld comment. She and Draco were currently sitting in one of the locked third-floor rooms, which Hermione had given up on trying to get into. It was, however, surprisingly clean, and every wall was lined with a wall of books. According to Draco, he had collected books for years and stored them in this library. It, along with the laboratory/basement, had become his safe haven after the curse. When Hermione brought up her lack of study materials, Draco had immediately taken her up to the library, and she had nearly fainted when she entered. She hadn’t seen so many books since Hogwarts burned to the ground. She was vaguely irritated with him for not showing her sooner, but it was hard to hold a grudge after the past few days.

Hermione set the spell book aside and began thumbing through another, her thoughts not on the book itself. Numerous as they might be, the books in Draco’s library held little information that was useful for their situation, but Hermione was determined to make the best of it.

Heaving a sigh, she set the second book aside and rubbed her tired eyes. They had been researching for hours, only stopping once to eat a two-minute dinner. Draco noticed her actions and set his own book aside. “No luck, eh?” he asked.

Hermione shook her head and closed her eyes. “Nothing I didn’t already know.”

“Ready to give up?”

“No.” Hermione opened her eyes and fixed him with a steely gaze. “I will stay up here all night and all day if I have to. I am not going to give up.”

Draco shook his head in amusement, leaning back in his chair and staring at the rows of books surrounding them. “Gryffindor spirit never dies, I suppose.”

Hermione didn’t answer but picked her book back up and started flipping through it again, seeing nothing of use. Draco glanced around a bit longer before standing and stretching. Hermione’s eyes seared into the spell book hard enough to bore holes in it in an attempt not to glance at Draco. If he noticed, he didn’t let on, instead walking toward the window on the side wall.

“What a lovely view,” he remarked dryly. “Vines and thorns. Really puts a man in the Christmas spirit.”

Hermione smiled and stood to join him. Her eyes widened in wonderment when she reached the window. “Draco, look! Is that snow?”

“Where?” He strained to see.

“Here, look through the spaces between the vines.” Draco followed the line of her hand and narrowed his eyes, trying to peer through the skinny gaps in the vines. “Do you see it?”

“Yeah,” he replied. “I think I see it. Shame it can’t get through.”

Hermione didn’t reply. As she stared out the window, her face took on a dreamlike quality. “I always loved the snow. When I was a little girl, my parents and I used to build a snowman every year and put my clothes on him. I thought it was the funniest thing I had ever seen.” Her expression softened. “I wonder if they still make a snowman, now that I’m not there. They don’t even remember having me.”

Draco lowered his eyes to the ground. “I’m sorry.”

She raised her chin and squared her shoulders, looking out the window again with a brave expression. “It had to be done. It’s painful, but it’s better than knowing they’re in danger because of me. They’re safe this way.”

“I understand,” Draco replied. “I’ve tried to protect my mum ever since my father died. She deserves better than he ever gave her. She deserves a better son than me, but I guess I’ve done my best.”

“I’m sure she appreciates it,” Hermione said softly. They stood in a comfortable silence for a few moments, each staring out the window and pretending they could see the snow. Hermione finally ventured, “I don’t mean to sound nosy, but I’m curious. What happened to your father?”

Draco’s eyes clouded as he recalled an obviously painful memory. Hermione instantly regretted asking, but she didn’t say anything. Draco cleared his throat and spoke with a thickness to his voice. “He drank himself to death, more or less. He got more and more unstable after Voldemort took over, and he was jealous of me and my favor with Voldemort. He attacked me once, but I managed to hold him off. It happened one night when he went out to a pub. He was drunker than I’d ever seen him, and he picked a fight with some wizards at the bar. They ganged up on him and massacred him. I couldn’t believe it when I heard. It always seemed like he’d live forever.” He set his jaw firmly. “I’m glad he’s gone, though. He was never good for anything but abusing people. I always used to ask Mum if he ever hurt her, and she always said no. I’m afraid he did, though. She was just too loyal to ever incriminate him.”

Hermione didn’t know what to say, but she found her voice to say, “I’m so sorry, Draco.” He didn’t make a sound, so she quietly took his hand in a comforting gesture.

Several quiet minutes later, Draco tugged on her hand lightly and said, “Come here. I want to show you something.”

Hermione let Draco lead her behind a few sets of bookcases to a darkened corner of the library. A small, carved wooden table was nestled in the shadows, and Draco pulled it out into the light with a squeak of its time-rusted feet. Hermione gasped a little when she saw what sat on the table.

A red rose, in full bloom in the dead of winter. The rose was encased in a glass dome, floating several inches off the surface of the table and sparkling with a sheen that told Hermione the rose had been enchanted somehow. It was the loveliest thing she had ever seen. She felt an inexplicable pull toward the flower, and she cautiously laid her hand on the glass dome. It felt alive, humming under her palm, and she looked at Draco in wonder.

“What is it?” she asked, her voice hushed.

Draco leaned against the wall casually. “My mum enchanted it. Apparently, it’s one of the roses that used to grow around the house before the curse. When my mum found me, she took the rose and enchanted it to live forever, sort of as a token to remember the day by. She says it symbolizes hope that one day I’ll be free. I don’t think she realizes what we’re up against.”

Hermione smiled distractedly, her eyes transfixed on the rose. “It reminds me of the fairytale Beauty and the Beast. The Beast had an enchanted rose that would bloom until his twenty-first birthday, and when the last petal fell, he would remain a beast forever.”

“Did he?” Draco asked curiously.

Hermione shook her head fondly. “No. Beauty declared her true love for him just before he died, and it saved his life and turned him back into a prince.”

Draco’s eyes were thoughtful as he listened to Hermione talk. “I’ve never heard that story before.”

“It’s a muggle fairytale,” she explained. “It’s French, I believe. It’s one of my favorites.”

“Maybe that’s where Mum got the idea,” he said. “I don’t know why she would know about a muggle fairytale, but she’s always surprising me.”

Hermione smiled at him, pulling her hand away from the glass dome. She still felt drawn in by it somehow, but she fought the urge and turned to face Draco. “You know, I once had a dream that I was the beauty in the story.” Draco looked at her curiously, and she continued, smiling fondly as she remembered her childhood dream. “I wore a long yellow dress, and I danced with a prince, and I lived happily ever after in a castle. Funny how when you’re little, anything seems possible, doesn’t it?”

Draco nodded thoughtfully. “Well,” he stated, “I don’t have a yellow dress for you, and I’m certainly not a prince in a castle, but if you want to dance, you’re welcome to dance with the beast.”

Hermione laughed at that, and Draco laughed with her. “I don’t know how to dance,” she chuckled.

“Oh, yes, you do,” Draco countered, pointing his finger at her. “I saw you whirling around the Yule Ball with Krum. You can dance and dance well. Hold on a minute.” Hermione watched curiously as he rounded one of the bookcases and scanned the covers of each one carefully. After a moment, he found the one he was looking for and set it on the table they had been sitting around. Draco opened the book gently, and when it rested all the way open on the table, soft music floated through the library.

“It’s enchanted,” Draco said unnecessarily with a smile. “Pansy gave it to me years ago, and I never had the heart to throw it out.”

Hermione laughed as Draco gave an exaggerated bow and offered his hand to her. She took it as gracefully as she could and tried to keep breathing when he stepped forward and held her in Proper Dance Position One. Neither of them was a perfect dancer by any means, but Hermione couldn’t help but smile when Draco tried to twirl her and accidentally elbowed her in the face. She retaliated by accidentally stepping on his feet numerous times, but they managed to exude a certain amount of grace as they swayed back and forth in a makeshift waltz.

“So, Pansy?” Hermione asked, a smile playing at her lips.

Draco shrugged. “Yeah. She and I used to go together back at Hogwarts, and she was always wanting to dance. I guess she thought a musical book might make me want to.”

“Did it?”

“No,” he snorted. “She was a terrible dancer. Always all over whoever she was dancing with, and trying to make witty remarks the whole time. She drove me crazy.”

“Why’d you date her, then?” Hermione laughed.

He shrugged again. “I guess she was the only one I could even imagine being with. It was never a good relationship, but it was a relationship, and that’s all I cared about. I was feeling pretty alone, so just being able to say I had a girlfriend was enough for me.”

Hermione nodded, understanding the feeling but not wanting to say so. Another thought came to mind. “What does Pansy do now?”

Draco’s eyes darkened again, and Hermione felt him imperceptibly squeeze her hand a little tighter. He wasn’t swaying as much, and Hermione let him lead, slowing her own movements down to match his. When he raised his eyes, moisture glistened in the corners and threatened to roll down his cheeks. Hermione had the sudden urge to wipe the tears away, but she fought it.

“Pansy was killed about five years ago.” Draco’s voice was thick with emotion. “Mum told me about it. She had gotten married to some heir to a fortune, and he was abusive. He killed her and then told everyone she committed suicide.” Hermione opened her mouth to offer some comfort, but Draco wasn’t finished yet. “I didn’t think it would affect me so much. She and I never got along well, and I certainly didn’t have any lost love for her, but she was one of my housemates, and I just couldn’t believe she was gone like that. She had a good heart under all that bluster; she wanted to be a nurse, I think. She probably would have made a good one if it weren’t for her stupid family and husband and reputation…”

Hermione felt tears of her own surfacing, which surprised her. She and Pansy had hated one another at Hogwarts, but even she felt some amount of sadness at hearing Pansy’s demise, especially since Draco had been so affected by it. “I’m sorry, Draco. I didn’t know.” He didn’t reply, his swaying all but stopped as the charmed music quieted to a whisper. Hermione thought hard about anything more to say, and she finally decided to share her experiences, too.

“Ron and I were in love,” she said quietly, and Draco looked at her with a curious expression. “We bickered all through school and always had major differences, but there was always some sort of spark between us. We kissed at the Battle of Hogwarts. It was strange and untimely, but I’m glad we did. Voldemort killed him just a few hours later. Ron was one of the first to be caught. He was trying to protect Ginny. I’m glad I didn’t have to see it; I don’t know that I could have stood it.” She blinked back her tears valiantly. “I don’t know that a relationship would have worked out between us, mainly because we were so different, but it’s hard not to wonder after all that happened.”

Draco was quiet for several minutes, trying to think of anything he could conceivably say after so many years of hating Ron Weasley. “Weren’t you engaged to someone else?” he finally ventured.

“Not at the same time,” she quipped, smiling through her emotion. “His name was Edmund. He was from Wales. He came and helped the Order for about a year. He and I were sort of unofficially engaged, you might say. But I told you what happened to him. He committed suicide to avoid getting caught with information. It’s strange; I never thought I could fall in love after Harry and Ron and Ginny and everyone had been taken from me, but Edmund made it easy. I think we would have been happy together if we had had the chance.”

Hermione looked so downcast, so broken from her memories, and it broke Draco’s heart. He knew that it was his group of people that had done so much to hurt Hermione, and in that moment he would have died a death for every loved one of Hermione’s he had killed, if just to bring them back for her. It was in that moment that he realized with a jolt that he loved her. Of course, it was ridiculous to imagine that she felt the same way, but he couldn’t deny the feeling that was welling up inside him, terrifying him but igniting him at the same time.

Hermione wanted to add something to her talk about Edmund. She wanted to say, _But now I’ve found you, and that makes the pain of losing Ron and Edmund and all the rest a little more bearable._ She wanted nothing more than to reassure him and comfort him, but she found that all her years of fighting the war of emotion had made her unsure of how to even say _I love you._ So she didn’t.

Draco was trying to hold his breath as Hermione slowly raised her eyes to his, memorizing her face as she stared into his very soul. He knew without a doubt that hers was the face he would see as he took his last breath. The moment hung heavy in the air, and Draco refused to let it pass.

When he lowered his head to be on level with hers, he told himself that it was to comfort her and let her know he cared, not to silently scream _I love you_ in the only way he knew how. When his hands moved to cradle her face, he told himself that he should back out before it was too late. But he didn’t listen, and all thoughts of talking himself out of it vanished when his lips touched hers.

Hermione felt a jolt of electricity run through her body, and she wondered if Draco could feel how rigid she had gone when he kissed her. A kiss had been the last thing she expected at that moment, but she couldn’t bring herself to pull away. Her realization of her love had been too recent to tell him, but she tried to tell him through her kiss.

Draco had just started to pull away, realizing that Hermione wasn’t a willing party, when he felt her lips move in response and her hand rest on the side of his neck. Seizing the moment, Draco wrapped his arms around her and pulled her as close as he could, feeling her arms slide around his neck. Their kiss was healing, entrancing, and innocent, yet it held such a passion and intensity that Draco could feel his heart pounding in his throat. _This_ was the moment he had been waiting his whole life for.

The kiss lasted an eternity to Hermione, and for the first time in her life, she couldn’t form any coherent thoughts the entire time. Her complete attention was focused on Draco and the way he was making her whole world spin. She felt breathless, dizzy, and utterly overwhelmed. It was intoxicating.

Once eternity had passed and rolled on, Draco felt himself pulling away from Hermione, his brain screaming at him to do the opposite. The look on her face was utter shock, and Draco immediately felt guilty. What right did he have to kiss the golden angel of Gryffindor, the lioness of the rebellion, after all he had done? He should be at her feet, begging her to forgive his transgressions and let him die a miserable, lonely death. She deserved so much better than him.

“Forgive me,” was all that came out. Draco realized that Hermione thought he was asking forgiveness for the kiss, but he was too overwhelmed to correct her.

Hermione finally found her voice and shook her head lightly. “You don’t have to apologize.”

Draco suddenly realized that the music had stopped, and he stepped back, out of her reach but still mentally wrapped up in the essence of her. Large brown eyes stared back at him, but he couldn’t read their expression. He was painfully aware of his own skin, how mottled and horrendous it must look to Hermione. He had never actually read Beauty and the Beast, but he couldn’t image a beast more hideous than the one he had made himself into.

Little did he know that the exact opposite thought had crossed Hermione’s mind. Had his scars always been so insignificantly small and pale? They were the same as they had always been, but Hermione realized with astounding clarity that his scars were a part of what she loved about him. They symbolized his desire to change, and he wore them as a badge of honor. Perhaps he didn’t see them that way, but Hermione couldn’t imagine anything more beautiful than his scarred, longing face.

The moment slipped away, and neither of them felt it when it happened, merely felt a sense of loss when they realized that they had been silently staring at one another for several minutes. They awkwardly stammered, shuffled their feet, put their hands in their pockets, but the moment had passed and they had to deal with the fallout.

They went back to studying the spell books, and they stayed there all night, though any hope of retaining information had been lost.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Narcissa Malfoy arrived in her entry hall in a swirl of color, taking a moment to gain her balance before rubbing her eyes wearily. The entire spectacle with Katie Bell should have relieved the Ministry, but it had only made them more antsy. Closer scrutiny had been placed on everyone directly or indirectly involved with the Ministry, and Narcissa was exhausted. All she wanted to do now was get some much-needed sleep.

She quickly pulled out her wand and dimmed the candles around the entry hall, making her way down the hallway toward her bedroom. But as she passed the entrance to her parlor, Narcissa Malfoy received the surprise of her life.

At least a dozen young people stood gathered in the parlor, anger and resolve painting every one of their faces. A tall, red-haired young man stepped forward and, before Narcissa could think or react, had shouted, _“Accio_ wand!” and had her wand in one hand and his own in the other.

“Mrs. Malfoy,” he said, ice tinging the edges of his voice and chilling Narcissa to the bone, “we’re here for Hermione Granger.”


	13. Trials of Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another big chapter, friends!! Thanks so much for your views and comments; they're so encouraging. We're close to the end now, so I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as the last :) As always, read, review, and enjoy!!

Narcissa Malfoy was perched on the edge of her saffron-colored parlor sofa, hands clenched and eyes darting nervously around the room at the surge of young people who occupied it. They had been there all night, and Narcissa could feel weariness settling in her bones, threatening to make her keel over in exhaustion. The young people – whom Narcissa could only imagine to be the rebellion Draco had aided – showed no signs of being tired from the long night.

The red-headed one seemed to be the leader, but a dark-skinned girl was obviously his foil, coming up with a counter to every one of his ideas. Narcissa couldn’t make heads or tails out of anything the young people were talking about, but she had kept her ears trained to pick anything out that she could.

Apparently, the young people had invaded Narcissa’s home and taken her prisoner in search of Hermione Granger. It couldn’t be right, though, Narcissa thought, since Hermione Granger had been killed. Narcissa had had no contact with Hermione at any time, and she couldn’t understand why this pack of rebels thought she did.

A girl Narcissa remembered as being on a Quidditch team at Hogwarts had been staring Narcissa down for the last two hours. The rest of the young people had searched Malfoy Manor from top to bottom at least three times, even taking Narcissa with them and pushing her for information on the Granger girl. The red-haired boy – Narcissa had heard someone call him George – had interrogated her for an indeterminable amount of time, but after the night had passed and morning broke through the heavy curtains of the parlor, he seemed to finally be convinced that Narcissa knew nothing of Hermione Granger.

Narcissa fought to keep her eyes open as George talked to his confidante. “I just can’t understand it. It doesn’t make any sense.”

“Have you showed her the paper?” the girl answered. “Maybe if she sees the picture –”

“I’m not showing anybody that paper until I know for sure we’re going to find Hermione.”

“Do you have some other idea? She already knows who we’re looking for, and obviously she’s involved somehow.”

“Maybe you’d like to ask her some questions, Angelina? Maybe you can think of some I haven’t already asked? Hermione’s not here!”

Angelina huffed impatiently and turned to Narcissa again. “Listen, you’ve got to understand; we’re not here to hurt you.” She moved closer, and Narcissa stiffened. “Our friend is in trouble and you’re the only one who’s attached to her. Did you or did you not buy Hermione Granger as a slave three months ago?”

Narcissa set her jaw. “How many times must I say this? Hermione Granger is dead and has been for years! I did not buy her as a slave because she is not alive to be bought. Can you not understand that?”

George finally gave into Angelina’s suggestion. He strode towards Narcissa, gesturing with a piece of paper. “Then who in Merlin’s name is this and why is your name the one marked as the buyer?”

Narcissa glared at the boy a moment longer, then looked at the paper he was pushing towards her. She let out a soft gasp, reaching out to hold the paper, and George reluctantly let her take it. Narcissa stared at it in disbelief, trying to mask her shock and disbelief. The young people noticed the change in her demeanor, though, and Narcissa found herself surrounded by them as she gawked at the young woman in the picture.

“Well?” George demanded.

Narcissa fumbled for words, trying to regain her composure. “This… this is not Hermione Granger, young man,” she managed. “Yes, I… I purchased her as a slave, but…”

A boy with long black hair knelt next to the sofa, eyes wide and anxious. “But what?”

Narcissa cleared her throat. “But her name is not Hermione Granger. This young woman’s name was Amelia Finberry, just as her bill of sale says.”

“Was?” George echoed, but Angelina intercepted him by pulling the paper out of Narcissa’s hands. “We’re aware of what the paper says,” Angelina said coldly. “And I don’t know who on earth Amelia Finberry is, but there’s not one of us who will believe you if you say the woman in that picture isn’t Hermione Granger.”

“Hermione Granger is –”

“If you say she’s dead one more time –” George started.

“She is dead!”

Angelina interceded again, this time on Narcissa’s behalf. Continuing in her calm voice, she explained, “Hermione Granger was assumed to be dead, but the records are wrong. She’s alive and has been a part of… us for quite some time. A leader, actually. She took on an identity and was caught, apparently under the name of Amelia Finberry, whoever that is. But you already know all this, don’t you?”

Narcissa shook her head wearily. “I told you, I’ve had no idea that Hermione Granger was even alive, much less using the name Amelia Finberry.”

“Then you admit to owning Finberry?” George pressed.

Narcissa hesitated. She would have to be more careful now, for Draco’s sake and her own. “Yes,” she replied slowly, “I bought Amelia Finberry three months ago from Augustus Sparrow’s slave shop.”

“So where is she now?” the long-haired boy asked.

Narcissa set her mouth in a firm line. “I would prefer not to say.”

George reached out and took Narcissa by the shoulders, giving her a hard shake. “You don’t get to play that game with us! Hermione means too much and we’re not letting you keep her from us! Where is she?”

Angelina put a hand on his arm to stop him from shaking Narcissa. “Save it, George. It’s getting light outside. We need to clear out.”

George took a deep breath and glared fiercely at Narcissa. “You’re right,” he agreed. The other young people began assembling nearby, muttering among themselves; Narcissa breathed a sigh of relief at realizing they would be leaving soon. “You’re coming with us,” George added, seeming to read her thoughts. Narcissa looked up at him in confusion.

“You cannot be serious,” she stated in a condescending voice. “I’ve told you the truth; I know nothing about Hermione Granger.”

George just scoffed, not even bothering to answer. “Michael,” he said to the long-haired boy, “take Malfoy back to the Fortress. Keep her in the cellar until Neville gets back to question her. Set four guards on her at all times.”

Michael nodded. “Aren’t you coming?”

“I’ll be there in a little while,” George replied. “I want to look through the Manor one more time.”

Narcissa snapped at him, “You’ll not find anything of Hermione Granger here. I tell you, she has never been here.”

George gave her a cold stare. “You’d better pray I don’t find anything, woman. Because if I find out you’ve done something to her, I’m going to make you pay dearly.”

Angelina and Michael pulled Narcissa to her feet. “That goes for all of us,” Angelina said, making Narcissa feel strangely cold and alone. These were people Draco had gone to school with, played Quidditch with, possibly even worked with in the rebellion, and they were threatening to kill her. Her only consolation was that she could keep Draco’s secrets safe, and keep him safe too.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Blaise’s head connected with the unflinching stone of Draco’s entryway, making him wince. “Hold on, mate, you haven’t heard all of it!”

Draco didn’t relax his grip on Blaise’s collar for a second, just pushed him harder into the wall. “Oh, haven’t I?” he ground out, hands shaking with fury. “What other croakings of doom have you got for me, my dear _friend?”_

Blaise shoved Draco back, trying to regain his composure enough to speak civilly. “Give me some breathing room and I’ll tell you!”

“You liar!” Draco snarled. As if it weren’t bad enough that Blaise had shown up, days later and alone, he brought news of the unthinkable: Theodore had lost Draco’s floorplan. “You tell me to trust you – you’re on my side, you say! – and you lose the most valuable and most dangerous thing in my possession. No, not only do you lose it – you steal it, lie about it, and _then_ lose it!” Draco let his voice rise to shouting level. “That floorplan could fall into _anyone’s_ hands, anyone who might turn Dennis in and get me into some worse predicament than I’m in now, and Theodore waltzes around the country with it hanging out of his pocket!”

Blaise noted how the large scar across Draco’s eye was glowing in his rage. Maybe this had been a bad idea after all. “Theodore didn’t mean –”

“I’m sure he didn’t!” Draco roared, pacing the floor like a lion in a cage. “Just like I didn’t mean to get trapped in my house with an abstract painting for a face!”

Blaise held up his hands between them. “Malfoy, if you’ll just listen to the rest of it –”

“Oh, sure! What, did he put a red ribbon on it and accidentally send it to Thicknesse personally? Did he owl it to Dolohov? Oh, maybe he just dropped it off at Voldemort’s doorstep with a little tag that said, ‘Please return to Dennis Creevey’. Is that the rest of it, or have I forgotten something?”

“Now, hold on!” Blaise bellowed back. Blaise wasn’t as angry as Draco was, but he could match him decibel for decibel if he had to. “It’s not as bad as you think, and it wasn’t entirely Theodore’s fault!” Draco opened his mouth to continue his scornful tirade, but Blaise kept talking. “He was trying to help you, and he made a mistake. But not as bad of a mistake as he could have made.”

“What in sweet Salazar’s name is that supposed to mean?”

“He lost the floorplan,” Blaise said, “and someone got it, but he’s almost positive it was someone from the Order.”

That caught Draco off guard, and he simply glowered at Blaise for a moment. “The Order?”

“Yeah,” Blaise said, calming his voice in hopes that it would calm Draco down. Theodore has been using the floorplan to go to Grimmauld Place every night, hoping it would give him some clue on how to help you.”

“Fine, fine. What about the Order?”

Blaise straightened his robe from where Draco had wrinkled it. “Theo’s positive it was Cho Chang that got the floorplan when he dropped it. She petrified him, stole the map, and Apparated away before Theo could catch her.”

“You’re serious?” Draco asked incredulously.

“Yeah. I’m still doubtful that it was actually Cho, but Theodore swears it was her… and that she recognized him.”

Draco paused, trying to process what that meant. “So the floorplan is in Cho Chang’s hands now?”

“As far as we know.”

“And she’s with the Order?”

“I assume so, but I guess Granger could answer that best.”

Draco pursed his lips, thinking hard, then nodded. “Come on.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Theodore Nott pulled his cloak straight on his shoulders and ran a hand through his hopelessly disheveled hair. There was no point in trying to look like he had gotten any sleep in the last four days if he hadn’t, so he wasn’t really trying anymore.

A few knocks on the Goyles’ door was all it took for a slave to answer the door. Theodore felt a pang of guilt when he saw her – no more than fourteen, with dirty red hair and a nasty gash on her neck. He suddenly remembered Alexandra, the girl he had owned previously and sold to Felix Goyle. The girl who was dead now because Goyle wasn’t amused with her snarkiness the way Theodore had been.

_Amazing how just a couple months changes your whole outlook_ , he thought. He couldn’t even imagine buying and owning a slave now, not after he had decided to turn his life around. He wished Alexandra was still there, if only so he could apologize to her.

Theodore gave the girl a small smile, and she simply stared at him with empty eyes. “Is Felix here?” he asked her, and she shook her head wearily. “Do you know when he’ll be back?” he pressed.

“Not until late this afternoon,” the girl replied cautiously. “He’s off in Paris on business.”

“Perfect,” Theodore said, and the girl’s eyes widened as he slid past her and shut the door behind him. She seemed ready to dart away at any moment, but Theodore tried to calm her with what he said. “My business doesn’t involve him. I think you might be able to help me, though.” The girl regarded him suspiciously, so he tried another tactic. “How long have you been working here?”

“Who are you?” she said, starting to edge away.

Theodore sighed. “You can call me Nott. Most people do. I’m here to talk to someone, but I need you to keep it a secret for me. Do you think you could do that?”

The girl sniffed. “My master would have me beaten and starved if I did a thing like that.”

“Well,” he responded, trying not to dwell on what she had just said, “how about this? If you can help me talk to who I need to talk to, I’ll get you out of here. That’s a promise.”

Her eyes widened, as though what he had said was too good to be true. “You’re a spy, aren’t you?”

“No. I just need to talk to somebody.”

“Who?” she demanded.

Theodore sighed again. “Dennis Creevey?”

The girl bit her lip. _Bingo._ Theodore knew she would help him if he could just get her to trust him. What card could he play? “Say, what’s your name?” he asked, trying to sound casual.

“Poppy,” she murmured, still looking deep in thought.

“Poppy,” Theodore repeated. “Well, I guess you can call me Theo if you’d rather. Nott’s my last name. That is, it’s _nott_ my first name.” The girl looked at him in utter confusion. Clearly, jokes would not be the way to win her trust. Theodore tried his last card. “Poppy, I’m from the Order.”

Poppy squinted at him, as though looking at him through a tinted window. “The Order? You mean, the underground?”

“Yeah, that,” he amended. Obviously the underground would be more recognizable to her. “I’m with the underground, and I’m here on a mission to get Dennis Creevey free.” That wasn’t exactly true, but he supposed he could make up his plan as he went.

Poppy’s eyes grew even wider, looking like saucers in her milk-white face. She stared at him so long that Theodore began to feel like a bug under glass, but finally she nodded sharply. “All right, Nott. I’ll trust you this once.”

“Thanks,” he said, and he followed her through a heavy set of green curtains to the next room. “Thanks for the trust.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Narcissa didn’t struggle once as Michael Corner and Angelina Johnson each took one of her arms and Apparated her to somewhere they called the Fortress. She had no idea where she was or what she would do with the information if she had it, but she had made up her mind not to say another word to these young people. She kept eyeing one of them, a stocky freckle-faced boy who looked as grim as Narcissa felt, and noted that her wand was tucked into his belt. If she could just get her hands on the wand for a second, just long enough to send a Patronus, she had a fighting chance.

“Is anyone else here?” a boy named Dean asked. He began pulling a large tome from the top shelf of a bookcase and set it on the large conference table that took up the center of the room.

“It’s just us,” Angelina said, rubbing her eyes. “The others are…” She paused and looked at Narcissa. “They’re on the other mission.”

“Right,” Dean nodded, scribbling something in the book. The other young people began going in different directions, but Narcissa kept her eyes fixed on the boy with her wand. He started out into a hallway, but Dean called him back. “Hey, Seamus, does this look right?”

Seamus turned and started toward Dean, past Narcissa, and she seized her opportunity. Angelina was rubbing her eyes again and had one hand loosely on Narcissa’s right arm. Narcissa jerked her arm free and lunged for Seamus with strength she didn’t know she had. Angelina and Michael reacted quickly, but Seamus was a second too late, and Narcissa had her wand in her hand before he could jump back. Narcissa shouted, _“Expecto Patronum!”_ before Seamus had snatched the wand back and Michael had tackled her to the ground.  
Her shoulder burned where she hit the floor, but Narcissa didn’t really care: these gruff young people wouldn’t be able to stop her Patronus from reaching its destination.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Blaise followed Draco up the stairs to the third floor of his house, to a door he had never seen before. Draco pushed the door open gently, and Blaise noticed how quiet Draco seemed in contrast to his behavior downstairs. He realized the reason when he stepped into the room and saw Granger, sound asleep with her head on a desk, surrounded by stacks of books.

“Nice to see her in her natural habitat,” Blaise remarked, and Draco frowned at him, waving at him to be quiet. Draco cleared his throat nervously and took another step towards her.

“Granger?” he called softly. She didn’t move, so he tried again. “Granger?” he called again, a little louder this time. She made no move to stir, so Draco ruefully looked at Blaise out of the corner of his eye, gritted his teeth, and said, “Hermione?”

Blaise smirked at him as Hermione lifted her head off the desk, looking confused and bleary-eyed. Draco just glared back at him.

She took a moment to rub the sleep out of her eyes and shake her head as if to clear it, then finally seemed to notice that Draco and Blaise were standing in front of her. “Um…” she started, then shook her head again.

“Blaise wants to talk to you,” Draco said awkwardly, looking everywhere except Hermione. Blaise noticed but refrained from commenting.

“What does he want?” Hermione asked, beginning to sound more like herself.

Draco looked at Blaise. “Well, what _do_ you want?” he said pointedly.

Blaise rolled his eyes and sighed. “The floorplan is… no longer in Theodore’s possession.”

“And?” Hermione prodded.

“I’m going downstairs to take my medicine,” Draco interrupted. “This whole thing is giving me a migraine,” he added, giving Blaise an irritated look before hurriedly making an exit from the library.

Blaise turned to Hermione. “What’s got him acting so strange?” He let his gaze wander around the room, then to the chair where Hermione had been sleeping. “Late night?” he asked, an edge to his voice.

“Cut the innuendo, Zabini,” Hermione snapped. “What’s going on?”

Blaise crossed his arms and kept his voice steady as he filled Hermione in on all that had happened, from Theodore taking the floorplan to it being taken by Cho Chang. She listened in fascinated silence, not interrupting him once to ask a question. When he finished the story, she began chewing her lip and thought for a few moments more.

“Why has Nott been waiting at Grimmauld Place every night?” Hermione finally asked.

“He’s been looking for something that will let him help Draco somehow.”

“Why was Cho Chang there?”

“Hanged if I know. She was alone and upset, from Theodore’s description.”

Hermione nodded thoughtfully. “And he’s absolutely positive it was Cho Chang?”

“Positive. Any reason why it shouldn’t be?”

“No,” she retorted. “Cho’s very active in the Order. I don’t know why she was at Grimmauld Place to cry, but I’m sure she had a reason. You say she recognized Nott?”

“He said she seemed to, but she didn’t say anything to him. She released him from the petrification before she Apparated, if that means anything.”

Hermione shrugged. “Maybe. I don’t know anything the Order has been doing in the last months, so I can’t say for sure.”

Blaise nodded, letting his gaze fall to the floor as he thought about how to address his next question. Asking her where the Order was would be like asking her to bare her soul to him, but it was time to start asking hard questions. Hermione absently flipped through a book in front of her, seeming as deep in thought as he was. She let a few minutes pass, then as Blaise was ready to pose his question, Hermione burst out, “I need your help.”

Blaise halted his train of thought to wrap his mind around her words. “You need my help?” he echoed.

“Yes,” she said, getting to her feet and beginning to pace the floor. _Just like Draco,_ Blaise thought absently. “I need to get a message to the Order.”

Blaise thought his jaw might hit the floor. “The Order?”

“Yes. It’s important that I get some information to them, but I’m stuck here and have no way to get in contact with them. Draco told me that you and Theodore had decided to help him, but I wasn’t sure I could trust you until I heard your story about the floorplan. As much as it pains me to trust Order secrets to a Slytherin git like you –”

“Really?”

“– I just don’t have any other choice,” she finished. Her gaze was steady on him, and she stopped pacing to lean her hands on the desk. “I need you to get a message to the Order for me.”

Blaise took a moment to let her words sink in, then crossed the distance between them and leaned against the desk opposite her. “Tell me where they are, and I’ll get it to them.”

Hermione seemed surprised. “You’re willing to help me?”

Blaise shrugged, trying to seem casual. “If it helps Draco, I’m in. And I think you’re on his side, too.” He paused, then continued. “Remember when I told you we’d have to have a long talk one day? Well, I think we just did.”

Hermione gave him her best Slytherin smirk back. “Yeah, I guess we did.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Poppy, who seemed to exude courage now that she knew she was with someone she could trust, glided through several rooms in the Goyle house, Theodore following her on faith that she wasn’t leading him into a trap. He stayed quiet, for fear that he might upset the silent balance of the great mansion.

Poppy finally pointed Theodore through a bright yellow door that seemed totally out of place in the drab mansion. “Dennis is down there,” she said quietly, casting a glance around to make sure no one was listening. “Tell him you’re with the underground. I’ll watch the front door and signal if someone is coming.”

“Thank you, Poppy,” Theodore said sincerely. The hopeful look she gave him made him want to pull her from the house that very instant, but he knew he had to keep cool if he wanted to get anyone else out – and get to Dennis.

Theodore pushed the door open as Poppy left, slinking down a staircase into a room that was hot enough to make him sweat moments after entering. When he reached the bottom of the steps, he realized that he was in a room taken up mostly by a furnace, obviously the main heating device of the mansion in the dead of winter. Theodore could see a young man by the furnace, shoveling coals into the open door of the machine. When the man straightened to wipe sweat off his face, Theodore called out to him. “Dennis Creevey?”

The young man turned around. His messy blonde hair was coated in ash, and his thin face was marred by a scar across the forehead. If Theodore hadn’t already known who the man was, he would never have guessed Dennis Creevey. War did terrible things to young people.

“Who are you?” Dennis answered roughly. He leaned his shovel against the wall and made his way toward Theodore, dusting off his grimy hands on his shirt.

Theodore suddenly felt sheepish, as though he weren’t worthy to be the one to rescue young Dennis Creevey, war hero and leader of the underground rebellion. But he was the only one there to do the job, so he pressed on. “Dennis, I’m here because I need your help.”

Dennis snorted a laugh. “I’m certainly in a great place to be doin’ favors for people. I’m not in any mood for jokin’, pig.”

Theodore remembered his alibi. “I’m with the underground movement, and I’m here to rescue you. I just need your help with something else, and I can get you out of here.”

Dennis didn’t look impressed. He raised an eyebrow at Theodore and cocked his head to the side. “Underground, eh? What’s your name?”

He had told Poppy that his name was Theodore, but he knew Dennis would recognize that name. “Lenny,” he lied. “Lenny Muggins.”

“I don’t know no Lenny Muggins in the underground,” Dennis shot back.

Theodore wasn’t sure how to convince Dennis he was on his side, but lying seemed like a bad idea. Nevertheless – “I’m new.”

“And they sent you on a mission to rescue a Pureblood house full of slaves alone?”

“Um… yeah.”

“Who’s in charge of the underground these days?”

Theodore didn’t know how to answer. “Joe?” he tried.

Dennis snorted again. “Nice try, fink.” He turned back to the furnace and picked up his shovel, but Theodore reached out and grasped Dennis’s shoulder, deciding to drop the façade.

“Dennis,” he pleaded, hoping the truth would sound like the truth, “you’re right. I was lying. But I’m not lying when I tell you I want to help you and I need your help. My name is Theodore Nott. I’m a friend of Draco Malfoy.”

Dennis’ face didn’t betray a thing he was thinking. “What’s that got to do with me?”

“I know you were his contact when Draco was helping the underground six years ago. And I know he’s been in touch with you since he was cursed by giving you potions.”

Dennis still didn’t break. “You’re off your nut by a mile, mate.”

Theodore gave his last shot. “I know about the floorplan!”

Dennis finally gave in, narrowing his eyes and giving Theodore a look that made him want to crawl into the floor. “What floorplan?”

“The floorplan Draco used as a portkey to meet you at Grimmauld Place six years ago. The floorplan he’s had ever since. The floorplan that…” Theodore trailed off, suddenly embarrassed to have to tell this intense young man what he had done.

“The floorplan that what?” Dennis demanded. Dennis’ life could hang in the balance with that floorplan, Theodore remembered.

Theodore sighed. “The floorplan that I lost. To the Order,” he added, as if it made his mistake any less serious.

_“You_ lost?” Dennis echoed mockingly. “You stole Malfoy’s floorplan and then lost it?”

“The Order has it!” Theodore replied. Dennis was taking steps toward him, and Theodore didn’t feel any safer just because he had his wand and Dennis didn’t. “It’s safe with them, and I can get it back if you’ll help me!”

Dennis’ eyes narrowed to slits. “Help you do what?”

Theodore took a deep breath. “Help me find the Order. I’m trying to help Draco, and the only way I know how to do that is to help you too, and to find the floorplan I lost. If you can just tell me where the Order’s hideout is, I can –”

“How should I know where their hideout is?” Dennis interrupted, his voice tinged with disgust. “I’m underground, not Order.”

Theodore pushed on. “I know you know where it is! Draco told me –”

“And even if I knew, I wouldn’t tell you,” Dennis continued. He spat on the floor at Theodore’s feet. “Death Eater filth.”

The words stung, but Theodore knew he would have to spend the rest of his life making up for the life he had chosen. He also knew that it would take a miracle to change Dennis Creevey’s mind.

He tried one last time. “Please, Dennis. If you can just give me an idea of where the Order is…”

Theodore didn’t get to finish his sentence, because a deafening crack suddenly made both him and Dennis startle. Dennis looked at the furnace, thinking the fire was crackling, but when he looked at the foot of the staircase, Theodore couldn’t believe his eyes. There before him, in flesh and blood, wands drawn and ready for action, were Neville Longbottom and Luna Lovegood, irrepressible as always. Following them seconds later were Fleur Delacour, a lovely sight in the hovel around her, and Nigel Wolpert, whose eyes lit up when he saw Dennis standing next to Theodore.

Dennis’ mouth was set in a firm smile when he turned towards Theodore. “Actually, I think that’s them now.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Hermione lingered in the library for a few moments more after she and Blaise finished their plans for sending messages to the Order. After getting her filled in on the news of Katie Bell, Blaise headed for the door to get to the Ministry for work. “Can’t afford to raise suspicion,” he explained.

Once Blaise had left the library and gone down the staircase, Hermione sat back down in her chair for a moment. Her head was still reeling from all the information she had just received. Katie Bell had defected. The Wizarding World was abuzz about spies and underground movements and rumors and secrets. Blaise and Theodore were really on her side. Cho Chang had the floorplan. _She would finally be in touch with the Order._

The thought of corresponding with one of her longtime comrades filled Hermione with excitement. Almost four months, and she had only spoken with four other people in all that time. She hadn’t realized how much she ached to hear Neville give out some orders, or George’s maniacal laughter, or Angelina’s no-nonsense remarks, until she realized they were within reach again. Hermione didn’t know how long it would be, but she would soon be sharing plans with her dearest friends again. _This must have been how Katie felt,_ she realized. _Six years as a Ministry spy must have been pure torture._

Her mind wandered to something else Blaise had said. _"Are you in love with Malfoy, Granger?"_ She hadn’t known how to answer, just stammered until she managed a, _“No, of course not.”_ Blaise had given her a triumphant smile anyway and muttered something about fifty galleons, but she was too overwhelmed to think about it too much.

Hermione sat in the chair a moment longer, then decided to head downstairs. She and Draco would have to talk sometime; it might as well be now. His anxious behavior at Blaise’s arrival hadn’t escaped her notice, and they had come too far to spend days in silence again.

She descended the staircase quickly, just as Blaise was letting himself out the front door with Draco at his heels. “You’ll let me know the moment you hear something?” Draco was saying, and Blaise nodded.

“Don’t worry, you’re my only confidant now,” Blaise assured him. “Besides Theodore, and who knows what he’s up to now.”

“Yeah, well, find him as quick as you can,” Draco said. “I want the floorplan back, but I don’t want him stirring up too much trouble trying to get it back. Kinda defeats the purpose.”

Blaise laughed and raised a hand to wave goodbye to Draco. Seeing Hermione on the staircase, he called, “Good talk, Granger!” cheerfully before shutting the door behind him.

Draco turned to see Hermione behind him, seeming surprised at her appearance. She gave him a gentle smile, hoping to clear the air, but Draco just ducked his head and began walking toward the kitchen. Hermione thought about giving up and going back upstairs, but she was too stubborn to let him get away without talking to her. She followed him into the kitchen, noticing that he didn’t turn around.

She leaned against the doorway, watching him fiddle with anything he passed – the cabinets, counters, tabletop. He glanced at her sideways. “Wasn’t enough for the stupid git to steal from me and then lie about it,” Draco muttered, sounding almost amused. “He had to go and lose the ruddy portkey on top of everything else. To the Order, no less!”

Hermione cracked a smile. “It does seem ironic. Though I guess it’s worked out all right in the end. The portkey is safe with the Order, and now I’ve gotten a message to them.”

Draco turned to look at her straight-on, stopping his ambling around the kitchen. “You got a message to the Order?”

“Through Blaise,” Hermione nodded. “I told him how to get in touch with them, and he’s delivering my message about Dennis and the underground to them.”

Draco gave a halfhearted laugh. “You trust Zabini that much, eh?”

She shrugged. “Desperate times call for desperate measures.”

Draco nodded, casting his gaze on the floor again. Hermione wasn’t sure how to say what she wanted to say, so she let the silence continue while she thought.

Her waiting ended quickly when Draco broke into her thoughts. “I’m sorry about last night,” he muttered, not looking at her.

Hermione looked up, surprised at his words. That wasn’t what she had expected at all. “Oh, well… I –”

“I got carried away. I’ve been in here for years all by myself, so I just… I guess I just lost my head for a minute. I promise you it won’t happen again.”

Hermione was stunned. Surely he wasn’t serious. “Draco,” she declared, “I’m not offended by what happened last night. It was just a kiss, just a dance. It’s not as if we did something permanent or shameful. Compared to what Zabini and Nott think we’ve got going on, we’re still at first base.”

“First base?”

“Muggle expression,” she said hurriedly. “My point is, I’m not upset about what happened. In fact, I’m sort of… well, I’m glad it happened. I know things have been happening very quickly and very unexpectedly, but I’m used to living life at lightning pace.” She steeled herself for her next words. “And I’m used to losing people I care about as soon as I realize how I feel, and I’m not going to –”

“Stop!” Draco cried out suddenly. “Don’t say any more.”

Hermione took a step toward him, and he turned to look away from her. “Why not? What’s –”

“There can never be anything between us,” Draco forced out, clenching his fists at his sides. He cursed his luck, his fate, his whole life that had held only misery and horrible choices from the beginning. “Hermione, we’re not meant to be together. I’ve made decisions every day of my life that have brought me to where I am, and I deserve it. You’re above it. You’re above me. I don’t deserve anything you could ever offer me, and you deserve so much better than anything I have to offer. I’m nothing but a grisly Death Eater with a face like a cracked mirror, and you’re…” He didn’t finish, but he didn’t have to.

“That’s not true!” Hermione answered, feeling tears well up behind her eyes. “You’re wrong! You’ve made a lot of bad choices, yes, and you made yourself an enemy of my loved ones. But I’ve seen who you’ve become, who you are now that you’ve chosen to change! I’ve seen the man behind the scars, the Draco who lives above the name of Malfoy! Don’t hold yourself prisoner to what you think you are. Let yourself be free by who I know you are, who you truly are deep inside!”

Draco’s voice was broken and hushed when he answered her, his face turned away. “It doesn’t matter, Hermione. It’ll never matter. I’ve made my choices. I’ve done all the damage one man can do. No matter what I do, I’ll never atone for all that I’ve done. And I guess I won’t have to. When the Order comes for you and you destroy Voldemort once and for all, I’ll already be gone. I’ll be dead, so you and the others can live. I know it’ll never atone for my wrongs, but maybe that’s my fate. Maybe in death I can do the one thing I’ve never been able to do in life: to help someone.”

Hermione felt her tears rushing down her cheeks openly, and she took the few steps forward that closed the space between her and Draco. Wrapping her arms around him, she couldn’t find any words, just buried her face in his neck and whispered, “No, no…” over and over until she thought she could believe it. When she felt his arms tighten around her, holding her so close she could barely breathe, she tried to say what she felt.

“You’re wrong,” she whispered in his ear. The scars on his skin suddenly looked so lovely to her, just as they had the night before. “You’re wrong. There’s always a place for people who forsake what they know is wrong and choose to change their fate. The Order is always open to you. You’ve chosen good over evil; I know it. I’ll help you. I’ll do whatever it takes to save you.” Hermione raised her head, placing a hand on either side of Draco’s face so she could look him straight in his cloudy eyes. “I’ll do anything, Draco. I won’t let you go.” Her voice broke. “I – I –”

Draco didn’t let her finish. His hands cradled her head as he kissed her, softly as first just like the night before, and then harder, with more passion and intensity. She returned the kiss with everything in her might, trying to say what she wanted to say – _“I love you”_ – without words. His hands tangled in her long hair, and she let her hands wander on his neck, over his shoulders to his chest. She felt his heart pound under her palm, felt his lips tenderly moving against hers, and she suddenly knew that she would never get to say those three words. Draco would never let her.

When Draco pulled away from her, resting his forehead on the side of her neck and breathing in her scent, he tried to memorize what it felt like to have her in his arms, to feel completely whole, completely forgiven. He knew they would never have their happy ending, and that this would be the only moment of forever they would share.

After what felt like a lifetime and at the same time a split second, they parted, gazing into one another’s eyes with the passion they both felt. Hermione’s eyes implored him to say what she wanted him to say – that this wasn’t the end, that they would have another chance, that he wouldn’t give up – but he couldn’t lie to her. He would never lie to her.

“I’m sorry, Hermione,” he said softly, so softly she wondered if he had even said it. “But there’s just nothing for us. We can’t let ourselves get any more attached to one another. It’s only going to make things harder… at the end.”

Hermione choked back a sob. _At the end._ Why did everything have to end? “There doesn’t have to be –”

“Don’t argue. You know it’s the truth.”

Hermione just stared at the floor, biting her lip and feeling as though every dream she had ever had had been crushed. Maybe it had. “I wanted to save you,” she whispered, finally meeting his gaze. “I wanted to save you.”

Draco stepped forward, taking one moment more to touch her face with the back of his hand and memorize the deep brown of her eyes. “You did,” he said simply.

And there was no more to be said.


	14. Sun Rising in the East

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are almost finished with this story, friends!! Only one more chapter after this. As sad as that makes me, I can't wait for you to read these last two chapters and finally get some closure for the story. A lot of you have been anticipating the things that happen in this chapter, so I hope it's everything you dreamed of :) As always, read, review, and enjoy!

Hermione’s jaw was set so tightly she felt it might crack. As she dashed up the stairs to the tower, she was surprised that she didn’t feel sad or even angry about what she knew was coming. A firm resolve had taken her sorrow’s place, and she took comfort in knowing that help would soon be on its way. If she could get the Order with her, if she could just see Neville and Luna and Cho and George, Hermione knew her courage and resourcefulness would start working overtime again.

_There’s a way,_ she thought as she reached the little room in the tower. _I researched Horcruxes for months with Harry and Ron. I know there’s a way to keep Draco from dying with Voldemort._

She had exhausted every source available to her in Draco’s library the night before, scouring every possible book until her eyes were glazed. It occurred to Hermione that Draco had undoubtedly done the same thing many times during his years in the house, and how could she possibly expect to find a simple, tied-in-a-bow answer sitting right before her nose?

She wasn’t going to give up though. Hope was in front of her now, and she had almost been afraid that such a thing was lost to her forever. Draco may have given up on saving himself, but Hermione wasn’t about to do the same. She loved him – that she knew for sure – and she was going to make sure Draco got his second chance.

She’d die before she let anything tell her otherwise.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Blaise Apparated straight to the Ministry after his talk with Draco, hoping to get some information from his treasury records before he left for the last time. He couldn’t keep a smile from crossing his face. For the first time in his life, Blaise felt that he was doing something to contribute to a cause he could be proud of. Maybe the Order would kill him when he took the message tonight. Maybe the Ministry would kill him when they found him out. Who cared? At least he could die knowing he had done one thing right, even at the end.

Blaise had just started thumbing through the previous week’s records when something caught his eye in the corner of his office. A bright blue Patronus, glowing and bounding in the shape of a fox, had appeared in the corner of the room.

Blaise shielded his eyes from the unexpected burst of light, trying to think of who could have sent the Patronus. Draco had no wand to send it with, and Theodore didn’t even know how as far as Blaise knew.

His question was answered when the fox began speaking in Narcissa Malfoy’s voice. “Help me!” the voice called, desperation tinging the words. “Help me please!”

Blaise stared at the Patronus in shock as it repeated the words once more and vanished in a swirl of blue sparks. Collapsing into his chair, Blaise thought as hard as he could. Where was Narcissa? How could he help her if he couldn’t find her?

He briefly considered Apparating to Malfoy Manor, but he knew it could easily be a trap he wouldn’t escape from. He certainly would have been made aware if Narcissa had been captured by the Ministry. Who could possibly have hurt her, and where could he find her?

Blaise wished Theodore were there to help him think and come up with an insane solution. Theodore’s schemes were never well planned but almost always worked. _What would he do? What would Draco do? What would Granger do?_

Granger. Blaise’s eyes lit up as he remembered the message carefully hidden inside his robe. Hermione had drawn him a map of how to get to the Fortress and even provided a message so the Order would know she had sent him. He hadn’t planned to use it until that night when no one would suspect him, but he suddenly found that he couldn’t wait another moment to get to them.

Blaise leaped to his feet, knocking over his chair in his hurry to leave. Who cared if he had just come into work? He wouldn’t be coming back anyway.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Cho Chang was in her attic room, shuffling through the stack of papers she had collected from the previous night’s excitement. She finally selected the page she was looking for – Hermione’s bill of sale to Narcissa Malfoy – and read it carefully, just as she had a hundred times before.

For reasons she couldn’t define, Cho believed Narcissa when she said she didn’t know where Hermione was. There hadn’t been a single sign of Hermione in all of Malfoy Manor, and while Cho couldn’t understand why Narcissa wouldn’t reveal more information about Hermione’s whereabouts, she had a feeling it was for the same reason the Order was so secretive: Narcissa was protecting someone.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a loud pounding on the door downstairs. She furrowed her brow, wondering who would knock at the door instead of Apparating inside, the way the rest of the Order members did. She dropped the papers and jogged down the stairs to see what the commotion was.

Michael Corner and Padma Patil came into the Fortress’ entry hall just as Cho did. The knocking was only getting louder and more insistent. “What’s going on?” Padma whispered. “Who’s at the door?”

No one answered her, but Michael signaled for the girls to wait in the hall while he went for the others. Cho pulled Padma with her behind a large column to wait, hoping the wards Fleur had placed around the great oak door would be strong enough.

“What if they found out about Malfoy?” Padma whispered again. “Do you think the Ministry knows we have her?”

Cho shrugged. “We’ll find out in a minute.”

Both girls stopped short when the sounds of a scuffle began outside the door. Padma grabbed Cho’s hand in terror, and they both listened as someone began shouting, their voice muffled. Michael joined the girls in the entry hall, Angelina Johnson and Oliver Wood right behind him.

“Listen!” Cho warned Michael, stopping him from rushing to the door. The five young people stayed still and listened. The struggling seemed to be over, but there was certainly more than one person still outside the door.

Suddenly, someone on the other side of the door began kicking at the door furiously. Cho drew her wand, but it was George Weasley’s voice that rang out through the door. “It’s me, George! Let me in, I’ve caught a prowler!”

Michael and Cho exchanged a glance, and they sprang forward at the same time to cautiously open the door. When Cho got her first look outside the door, she was relieved to see George, feisty as ever, and someone else being held down in a chokehold by George.

“Blaise Zabini!” Padma exclaimed, holding the door open so George could pull a struggling Zabini inside. Oliver pinned Blaise’s arms behind his back, and Angelina swiftly took his wand from his pocket. “Where’d you find him, George?”

George shifted his hold on Blaise, pulling out his wand to cast a quick binding and silencing spell on the Slytherin before collapsing against the closed door to catch his breath. “At the door,” he explained. “I came back from the Manor and found him skulking around, looking for the entrance. Guess he found it,” George grinned, looking meaningfully at Blaise on the floor.

“How could he have known where we are?” Angelina demanded. “No one knows about this place!”

George shrugged. “One way to find out.” George removed the silencing spell on Blaise and pointed his wand directly at him. “Well, Zabini? Care to answer the lady’s question?”

Blaise struggled against the ropes. “I’m not here to hurt anybody, and I’m not a spy! I’m a friend of Hermione Granger, and she’s sent me –”

George didn’t hear anything after that, and Oliver had to hold him back from leaping onto Zabini in fury. “I should have known! What have you done with her? Where is she?!”

“I don’t have her!” Blaise exclaimed, matching George’s deafening tone. “But I’ve seen her, and I know where she is! Cut me loose and I’ll tell you everything I know!”

“Don’t do it, George,” Michael cautioned. “He might have just followed us from Malfoy Manor.”

Blaise perked up at that. “Did you say Malfoy Manor?”

“What if I did?”

Blaise tried to keep his voice steady. “You’ve got Narcissa Malfoy here, don’t you? I received a Patronus from her just a little while ago, asking me for help. Do you have her here?”

“Don’t tell him anything!” Michael said again.

George eyed Blaise suspiciously. “Give me one reason I should trust someone like you,” he said, contemptuously adding, “filthy traitor.”

Blaise glared back. “Because I’m helping Hermione Granger, because I know where she is, and because I’m willing to take you to her.” At a sudden burst of thought, he added, “In exchange for Mrs. Malfoy.”

Michael scoffed. “You’re not in any position to be bargaining, Zabini,” he said. “For all we know, _you’ve_ got Hermione.”

Blaise suddenly remembered what was practically burning a hole in his pocket. “Wait! I can prove it!”

“How?”

“Look in my left pocket!”

George and Cho exchanged a glance, and Cho knelt down next to Blaise, since he was still tightly bound and wandless. Rifling through his pocket, Cho took hold of a piece of paper and pulled it out, quickly scanning its contents. “Look!” she exclaimed, holding it up for the others to see. “It’s a map to the Fortress. And it looks like Hermione’s handwriting!”

Angelina took a closer look. “Here in the corner, look! It’s her code name!”

“Time Turner,” Cho whispered. “It _is_ Hermione.”

George’s eyes were wide, and he looked rueful as he turned his wand on Zabini and removed the ropes holding him down. Blaise hoisted himself up and gave the others a meaningful look. “Quite a welcome. Anything else I should beware of before I start talking?”

“Hermione,” Cho said firmly. “Just tell us about Hermione.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“I’ve found something,” Hermione said bluntly.

Draco turned from his desk. The basement was even colder than usual, probably due to the snow that was covering the world outside his house. Draco had been in the basement fiddling with his latest potion for the last several hours, so Hermione’s voice coming from the tower’s secret entrance startled him.

He didn’t respond, so Hermione addressed him again. “I said I’ve found something.” When Draco continued sprinkling crushed leaves into a cauldron, Hermione stepped forward and plunked her newest find onto the table next to Draco. “This is important, Malfoy. I’ve found something about Horcruxes.”

Draco pursed his lips and kept stirring the potion. “I think we’ve already had this discussion, Granger. There’s no more to be said.”

“I beg to differ,” she countered, flipping the book open to a page near the end. She was going to talk whether he wanted to listen or not. “This book had fallen behind one of the tower bookcases. It’s _A Friend of Magic_ by Thomas L.B. Tillwinkler. It was written in 1698, and it details a lot of the old myths that were disproved in the 17th century. Tillwinkler specialized in studying Unforgivable Curses, and he had a special fascination with Horcruxes.” Hermione tried to keep from talking too quickly in her excitement.

“So what?” Draco asked, still focused on his potion.

Hermione picked up the book and shoved it into Draco’s hands, pointing at a section she had underlined. Draco sighed and finally turned to look at the writing. The page was ancient and delicate, but the words were still legible.

He began reading aloud. “’A horcrux is an object in which a dark wizard or witch hides a fragment of his or her soul to become immortal. Considered the darkest art and the most terrible of all dark magic, Horcruxes can only be created after committing murder, the supreme act of evil, and the process for the creation of a Horcrux must be performed soon after the murder has been committed. There are usually protective measures made to prevent a Horcrux from being stolen or destroyed –’” Draco abruptly stopped reading and shoved the book back into Hermione’s hands. “Do you think I don’t know all of this already, Hermione? Why rehash ancient history?”

“Keep reading,” she said patiently, pointing to a section below the one he had been reading.

Draco gave her a glance but did as she asked. “’Destroying a Horcrux requires that the object containing the soul fragment be damaged to a point beyond any and all physical or magical repair. All known methods of Horcrux destruction require the receptable to be damaged beyond repair; which, in the case of living receptacles, means that they must be killed.’” Draco raised his eyebrows at her. “This seems pretty clear to me, Hermione.”

Hermione sighed and took the book from him. “’Basilisk venom and Fiendfyre are two methods which have been proven sufficient in destroying a living Horcrux. A magical artifact, such as a weapon made from magical substances, could also be used to destroy a Horcrux. Lastly, an act of sacrificial love is strong enough to counter many curses and spells previously thought to be irreversible. In my experiences researching the nature of Horcruxes, I have no reason to believe that an act of selflessness would not have the same destructive or restorative effect on a Horcrux.’” Hermione set the book down on the table again.

“There you have it,” she stated, looking Draco in the eye. “It’s not just violence and magic that create and destroy Horcruxes. An act of sacrificial love could destroy the Horcrux in you, but spare your life at the same time.”

Draco scoffed, turning back to his potion. “That book is hundreds of years old. Ancient prophecies and myths are hardly anything to stake your hope on.”

“Draco, Thomas Tillwinkle was a respected author and researcher of his day. Just because it’s old doesn’t mean it’s true.” She knew she was pushing her limit, but she went ahead with what she was thinking. “You know what? I’m beginning to think you don’t want to be saved. You’ve convinced yourself that the world doesn’t need you and that you’ll be better off dead. No matter what I find, no matter what I offer to do for you, it will never make any difference to you. In your mind, you’re already dead.”

The words stung, but Draco knew she was partially right. “I’ve told you, I’m not worth saving. My death will be the last chapter in Voldemort’s evil empire. That’s not by my choice or yours, but it’s what we have to accept. I already have, and I suggest you do the same.”

His tone was completely flat, completely resigned, so Hermione didn’t bother to argue with him. Turning away, she pulled up a chair to Draco’s potion table and continued reading in the book, undoubtedly still looking for answers. Draco noticed and tried to concentrate on his potion.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“So you’re telling me that Hermione was taken prisoner, sold to Narcissa, given to Draco Malfoy, and has been trapped in his house with him for the last four months?”

Blaise nodded sharply. Angelina Johnson had been grilling him with questions ever since he recounted his entire story to the Order. He was incredulous that he was even in their midst, having still been a Pureblood traitor only an hour prior. Blaise hadn’t even known that most of these people were still alive, and it seemed almost eerie to sit in front of George Weasley, having witnessed the deaths of everyone in the other man’s family.

He pushed his ponderings aside to focus on his explanation. “No one else knows. Draco, Narcissa, Theodore, and I are the only ones who know she’s there. Narcissa doesn’t even know it’s –”

“Did you say Theodore Nott?” Cho burst out.

“Yeah, we’ve been working together to help Draco and Granger the past couple of weeks. I’m not sure where he is at the moment, but he’s –”

“I told you!” Cho interrupted victoriously, directing her comment at Dean Thomas. “Dean didn’t believe I saw Nott at Grimmauld Place, but I knew it was him.”

Blaise rolled his eyes. “And I didn’t believe him when he said he saw you there.”

Angelina was ready to get back to the questions. “Why haven’t you come to us before now, Zabini? Why the sudden change of heart? Why has Hermione only just decided to make you a messenger boy?”

Blaise tried to hide the shame he felt. “I haven’t come because… I’ve only decided to help the past few weeks. I’ve been on the fence before now, but I recently decided – and so did Theodore – to help Malfoy.”

“I still can’t believe it,” Millicent Bulstrode said, shaking her head. “Draco Malfoy, the spy for the underground. Dennis Creevey’s contact. I just don’t believe it.”

“We’ve sure had him figured wrong,” Seamus agreed. “I swore I’d kill him if I ever saw him again. I guess there’s hope for him yet.”

George pushed through the conversations that were already buzzing through his fellow Order members. “This is a wonderful redemption story and all, but I think what we need to do now is go get Hermione. We know where she is; why can’t we just get her?”

“She’s bound to Draco and the house itself,” Blaise explained. “There’s a lot more to it than just breaking her out.”

“We need to wait for Neville, too, George,” Angelina said calmly. “We can’t go rushing off without him knowing what’s going on.”

“We went to Malfoy Manor to find Hermione!”

“We’ll wait for Neville,” Angelina said firmly. “He shouldn’t be far behind us.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Angelina was right; they didn’t wait long. Blaise was asking to see Narcissa when cracks sounded in every part of the conference room. Eight new faces Apparated into the room, talking furiously and arranging themselves throughout the room. Blaise recognized old classmates – Neville, Luna, Fleur Delacour, Nigel Wolpert – and a few new faces, apparently slaves, including a fair-haired fellow who looked very familiar.

“Neville!” Cho cried amid the confusion. “Blaise Zabini is here, and he’s helping us! He can take us to Hermione!”

Neville looked stunned to see Blaise sitting at the table, looking at George and Michael as though they were idiots. “It’s a trick, guys! Don’t you get it? They must have sent him here after Narcissa! I found another one at Goyle’s house!”

Padma’s protest of, “No, he’s got proof!” was drowned out by Blaise’s shocked exclamation of, “Theodore?!”

“Blaise!” Theodore shouted back, entirely fastened with ropes but looking as cheerful as ever. “I found the Order!”

“So did I, numbskull,” Blaise shot back. “Granger sent me with a map and some proof. Why were you at Goyle’s house?”

“Looking for Dennis Creevey,” Theodore said proudly. “I found him, too!”

“Dennis!” Fleur squealed, jumping up to throw her arms around the dusty young man. “You are alive! I am so happy to see you!”

Several other Order members crowded around Dennis, hugging and welcoming him into their friendly camp. Blaise watched them with a hint of sadness. He wished suddenly that he had come to the Order long ago.

“What’s this about proof?” Neville shouted to Angelina over the din. “How did Zabini get here?”

Angelina and George quickly filled Neville in on what Blaise had told them, showing him the map and note Hermione had written to them. Neville was as awestruck as the rest of them at the rapid-fire revelations – Hermione was with Draco Malfoy, who was Dennis’ old contact, and Blaise and Theodore were their new allies – but he approached the situation with more calm than the others had.

“Dennis, is all this true?” Neville asked the other man. “Malfoy was your contact?”

“He was,” Dennis replied, eyes glowing with excitement. “Malfoy saved my skin on many occasions, and he gave up everything to keep me and the underground safe. I owe him my life.”

Cho broke in. “And Zabini and Nott?”

Dennis shrugged. “They’re not dangerous. Malfoy thought they’d help him sooner or later. They’re certainly no friends of the Ministry.”

Luna took a seat next to Neville, apparently having been listening to the entire conversation. “It makes sense that Narcissa wouldn’t tell us any of this. She was trying to protect her son all along.”

The others nodded, realizing that Luna was right. Neville gave Blaise an unreadable look. “I guess we’ve got a lot to thank you for, Zabini. And you, too, Nott,” he added, gesturing toward Theodore, who had been released from his binding spell and was sitting next to Millicent.

Blaise looked down at the table. “We’re no heroes. We’ve wanted to do something a long time before now, but we’ve been too afraid. Maybe you all would have won the war by now if we had come forward before now.”

“It doesn’t matter now,” Luna said softly. “Dwelling on ‘if’s won’t get us anywhere. The important thing is that you’ve made the right decision now, and that you can help us find Hermione.”

“I’ve got a plan for a little more than just finding Hermione,” Neville declared, giving George and Cho a mischievous look. “I’ve got a feeling that this may be the chance we’ve been waiting for.”

Dennis smirked back at Neville. “And I’ve got a feeling you’re right, mate. Seven years is a long time for a kettle to boil, and I think we’re due for an explosion.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Draco proudly dropped the last bit of crushed lacewings into the cauldron. After double-checking his potions recipe, he turned to Hermione, who was still pointedly flipping through the Horcrux book.

“Care to give me a hand?” he asked, gesturing at the cauldron.

Hermione raised an eyebrow. “What for?”

“My newest potion. I need you to pour in some essence of hemlock while I stir.”

She got to her feet, eyeing the potion suspiciously. “What’s this going to do?”

Draco rolled his eyes. “No need to worry. It’s the one I’ve been telling you about. The one I used the dragon’s heart for.”

Hermione’s face suddenly lit up as his words registered. “The one that can make a person fly?”

“Well, I won’t know until it’s done, but… yeah, that’s the plan.”

“Sure, I’ll help,” Hermione agreed, standing next to him and looking inquisitively into the cauldron. The substance inside was a foaming gray-pink and looked almost like medicine.

Draco handed her a round bottle and pulled the top off. “Just pour this in a steady stream in one place until I tell you to stop.”

Hermione nodded eagerly, staring into the potion intently as she began pouring gently. Draco hadn’t asked for her help with his potions before, and it was good to do something with magic again, even if she didn’t have her wand. Draco stirred the contents of the cauldron carefully, checking his recipe every few seconds as if he were afraid he would do something incorrectly.

“Just a little more,” he said finally, eyebrows knit together in concentration.

Hermione nodded. The potion had changed consistency and now glimmered red, green, and gold. “It looks like a dragon’s scales,” she remarked softly, pouring the last of the bottle’s substance into the pot.

“Good,” Draco replied. He stirred the potion several more times, then set down his rod and pulled Hermione away from the table. “Come on, let’s give it some space. According to the recipe, it should spark several times and maybe erupt a little when it’s finished.”

“Really?” Hermione asked incredulously, joining Draco in a crouch behind his desk. “I’ve never heard of a potion that reacted that way. Who invented it?”

Draco shrugged. “I did.”

“What?!”

“I mean, I don’t know if it works yet,” he said defensively, as if he thought she were accusing him. “This is my first time brewing it. I basically combined as many relevant potions as I could find, then took some old manuscripts from wizards who believed they had invented a flying potion. I applied the modern laws of potion-making to those ideas, and that’s how I came up with this one. Look, it’s starting to fizz!”

Hermione wasn’t looking at the cauldron. “You’re telling me you not only have made hundreds of registered potions down here, but you’ve also invented your own? Invented potions that have been thought impossible?”

“We’ll soon see,” Draco replied. “Keep your head down.”

No sooner had the words left his mouth when the first spark leaped from the cauldron and flew like a rocket around the basement ceiling. It circled the room twice before slowing and fizzling out in midair, leaving a few glittery flickers behind. A second spark erupted from the cauldron, quickly followed by a third and a fourth. Hermione couldn’t resist taking a peek from behind the desk, and she laughed when she saw the shooting sparks.

“They look like the fireflies I used to catch in the park behind my parents’ house,” she said gleefully, watching two sparks shoot out of the cauldron and twist in harmony together like butterflies.

Draco let a smile cross his face as well as he watched her excitement. The brightly glowing sparks reflected off her face and made her look like a starstruck child, and he almost became too distracted to notice what was happening in the cauldron.

“Get down!” he shouted as the potion erupted in a blinding pillar of fire. Draco reached out to pull Hermione behind the desk and into his arms. She buried her face in his neck, and he tried to ignore the intense heat that flooded the room as the potion crackled with fire. He held her as tightly as he could, trying to forget that he had sworn not to hold her like that ever again. He could feel her heart pounding against his chest. Draco finally gave in and laid his forehead on her shoulder, deciding to take the opportunity while she was still with him.

Why did it always have to feel so natural to have her in his arms? Why couldn’t he just go back to hating her or not knowing she existed? Life had been so much easier before he had to constantly fight a doomed love affair.

After a few moments, the flames died down and swirled back into the potion, where they bubbled and fizzed once more before settling into the shimmering liquid. Draco slowly raised his head from Hermione’s shoulder, feeling her hair brush his cheek as he peered around the desk.

“It’s over,” he said, his voice thicker than he expected. His hands trembled as he pulled his arms away from her, and Hermione seemed somewhat affected as well.

They both pushed their feelings aside and got to their feet without the other’s assistance. “Was it supposed to be that bright?” Hermione asked, clearly trying to change the subject from anything besides the moment they had just shared. She shoved her hands in her pockets to keep them from shaking.

Draco swallowed and made his way toward the cauldron again. “Uh… I don’t know. I expected it to erupt somehow, but I wasn’t anticipating an active volcano.”

Hermione smiled a little. “Looks like you’ve burned your roof.”

Draco looked at where she was pointing and saw that she was right. The flames had gone straight up and burned a large hole directly through the basement ceiling. He could see right into the empty room upstairs.

“Yeah, I guess so,” he said, smiling a little in return. “I’ll fix it later.”

“How will you test the potion?”

“Try it myself, just like I always do,” Draco replied, pulling out a tiny vial and filling it with the liquid he had just created.

“That seems dangerous,” Hermione countered, peering into the cauldron, “especially considering what just happened.”

Draco shrugged and managed a half laugh. “If the other hundred potions haven’t killed me yet, I doubt this one will.”

Hermione hid a smile and nodded acquiescently. Draco was right; he didn’t explode or fall over dead as he threw back the vial, and he gave her a triumphant grin as she watched. He had just opened his mouth to speak when he suddenly lifted off the ground. His feet rose nearly five feet off the floor, and he had to duck his head to keep from hitting the ceiling.

Hermione clapped her hand over her mouth as they both started laughing. “Look at this, Hermione!” Draco shouted in delight. “I’m actually flying!”

She shook her head in amazement. “Can you propel yourself at all?”

Draco tried, waving his arms and kicking like he was swimming in midair, but he didn’t go any further. “I guess all I can do is float,” he admitted. “But look at this!” He suddenly pulled himself into a ball and turned head over heels in the air.

Hermione laughed again, doubling over and collapsing onto the chair she had previously occupied. “I can’t believe I’m seeing this,” she chuckled, wiping her eyes. “Draco Malfoy, turning somersaults in the air.” Draco grinned proudly back at her, resting his hands behind his head and crossing his legs in a mimicry of sitting in a chair.

That only made her laugh harder. “You look like Uncle Albert from _Mary Poppins!”_ she managed, burying her face in her hands.

“Who?” Draco asked, turning himself upside-down so that his hair struck straight up.

“It’s a Muggle film,” she explained. “Uncle Albert loves to laugh, and when he does, it makes him float. He can’t come down until he stops laughing.”

At this, Draco suddenly took on a gravely serious face, crossing his arms and turning right-side up. When nothing happened and he continued to be suspended in midair, Draco broke out into another grin and laughed at her victoriously. “Ha! My flying potion must be better than his!”

Hermione chuckled again but decided not to bother explaining that Uncle Albert never had a flying potion. “How long will it last?” she asked.

Draco threw his arms up in a shrug, turning a somersault backwards and laughing as though the past eight years had had no effect on him. “I have no idea. I took a very small dose, so I’d say only a few minutes.”

“What if you’re stuck floating for hours?” Hermione asked.

He shrugged again. “Then I float for hours.” He glanced at the newly-created hole in the ceiling. “Watch this.”

Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose with her fingertips, hiding a smile as Draco maneuvered his way to the hole, pulled himself through, and floated into the upstairs room. Once his shoes left her line of sight, she rose from her chair and went to stand under the hole, gazing up in search of him.

“Where are you?” she called, peering as far up as she could.

She jumped back in surprise when he poked his head out of the hole, floating upside-down and grinning from ear to ear. She was about to give him a teasing scolding when he said, “I dare you to try it, Granger.”

Hermione put her hands on her hips and tried to look disapproving. “Draco, floating about is not something I’ve ever dreamed of doing. And I hate flying!”

“You said yourself it’s not flying,” he argued, his voice drifting down from somewhere above. “Just floating.” He stuck his head back through the hole and smirked at her. “Come on. I dare you.”

Hermione almost turned him down, said it was too dangerous, said this wasn’t the time for playing around. But she was struck by the notion that this could be the last time they would laugh together, the last time he would dare her to do something with that mischievous grin she had come to love.

Without a word, Hermione grinned back, took a sip from the potion vial, and couldn’t keep herself from laughing again as her feet lifted off the ground.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The floating potion at long last wore off, and Hermione and Draco drifted down to the ground again, where they kept their distance from each other while lauding the potion as the greatest invention they had ever seen.

“I didn’t know floating could be so much fun,” Hermione said, shaking her head and they rounded the corner into the basement again. Draco began pouring the new potion into separate vials, which he had already labeled and organized in advance.

“It should be very useful,” Draco agreed. “I promised Dennis I would make him a flying potion sooner or later. Too bad it was later rather than sooner.”

Hermione ignored his comment and persisted with her idea. “A potion like that would work wonders in the Order. You have no idea what this would do for our escape plans. Why, with just one vial, we could – ”

“The Order _will_ have the potion, Hermione,” Draco said plainly, giving her a determined look. “Who do you think I made it for?”

Hermione wasn’t sure what to say. “You… you made this… for the Order?”

“Not specifically,” he clarified, switching the next vial into his cupboard. Hermione reached out to help him balance the cauldron as he kept talking. “The underground has most of the potions I’ve made. It’s been murder getting it to them, but we’ve managed. This book,” he indicated the heavy tome lying in front of him, “has the recipes for every potion I’ve created. When you get out of here, I want you to take it to Dennis. He’ll know what to do with it.”

“And the Order?” she asked.

“The Order and the underground will be coming together,” he explained. “Once the Order gets you out of here, you’ll be able to find Dennis and let him know what’s going on. The time is right for an uprising. With the combined forces of the underground and the Order, Voldemort won’t stand a chance.”

Hermione bit her lip and looked down at the potion book Draco had slid in front of her. She knew what he was saying between the lines. “Maybe you’ll be there to give the book to Dennis yourself.”

Draco laughed mirthlessly. “Sure.”

“Where did you say you got the idea for this potion?” she reminded him, setting the cauldron down so he would look at her. “From ancient potion-makers who believed they were onto something?” She reached over and grabbed the Horcrux book she had been reading from earlier. “Why shouldn’t the same thing be true about Horcruxes? Just because it’s an old idea doesn’t mean it’s a bad one! If an act of sacrificial love is powerful enough to destroy a Horcrux, think about what it could do as far as restoration! I could –”

“That’s enough,” Draco interrupted, not unkindly. “Let’s just get this potion stored.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“When will Dennis be here?” Angelina asked impatiently, flexing her fingers nervously as she shuffled further down behind a bush. Lee Jordan was pressed against her right side and Luna Lovegood against her left. She could barely make out the top of George’s red hair across the lawn.

“He just said as soon as he could,” Luna replied. “Soon could be anytime.”

Angelina sighed in frustration. The entire Order – save Fleur and Millicent, who had stayed behind to watch the Fortress – had taken their biggest risk in many years. Fourteen eager Order members (plus Blaise, Theodore, and Narcissa) were now scattered in small groups throughout the neighborhood surrounding Draco Malfoy’s house. Angelina was shocked at how dilapidated the house was compared to what she had expected. The grandeur and opulence of Malfoy Manor made Draco’s home look like a medieval dungeon. Dark clouds that didn’t match the rest of the weather hung over the mansion like vultures. Every plant or tree on the property was wilted and blackened. Even the snow that coated the lawn and the rooftops seemed dismal. Blaise hadn’t exaggerated when he said Voldemort turned the place into a graveyard.

“What’s that noise?” Lee asked her, moving in closer than Angelina would have liked. “Is that them?”

“I don’t know,” Angelina replied. “Sounds like fireworks.”

Luna looked over her shoulder, her unconcerned voice contrasting her words. “I hope he gets here soon. We could be spotted any minute.”

“I told Neville we should have used disguises or invisibility or something,” Angelina grumbled. “We might as well march up the middle of Diagon Alley.”

“There wasn’t time,” Luna reminded her. “Dennis will be here any minute; I just know it.”

Angelina was preparing a semi-snarky reply when a deafening explosion made her cover her ears and duck her head. A glance at the sky above her told her that her guess had been correct – Dennis was setting off fireworks.

George stuck his head up from behind his bush and signaled to Angelina with his wand. Angelina, Luna, and Lee rose from their crouched position and started toward the rest of the Order, keeping a careful watch for anyone who might notice them. The way seemed clear, so Angelina pressed on toward George.

The Order members could do little more than stare as a scene unfolded before them like they had never seen before. In every corner of the street and lawn around them, wizards and witches of every age, size, color, and blood status Apparated into view, a new face crackling into motion every instant. Dennis Creevey, eyes blazing with excitement, appeared in the midst of the gathering crowd, shouting orders and directing the swarm of people into their ranks.

“So this is the underground,” George said in amazement as they watched the people organize themselves into groups. Angelina could only nod in agreement. There were so many. So many…

“The Wizarding World is reborn today,” Luna said softly, her voice sounding like an ancient prophet. “This will be the awakening of a new age of freedom.”

Angelina still couldn’t find her voice, so she just kept watching the flood of people grow larger and larger. The people of the Wizarding World had finally had enough of Voldemort’s regime, and now here they were – hundreds upon hundreds of citizens rising up and joining together to fight the evil that had kept them huddled in fear. Angelina spared a glance over at Blaise and Theodore, who looked as shocked as if they had been hit with sledgehammers.

Angelina’s amazement was interrupted by Neville’s voice from behind her. “Dennis!” he called to the underground leader as he approached. “This is incredible!”

“Isn’t it?” Dennis grinned. “Wait till they all get here!”

Neville shook his head in wonder, pushing past the others to get close enough to talk to Dennis. “When can we start? When will everyone else be here?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Dennis declared, pulling his wand out of his pocket. “We came ready to go. The others will come in waves so we don’t get overwhelmed. In the meantime, it’s time for a show.” Dennis grinned again, and a chill ran up Angelina’s spine as the young patriot raised his wand into the air and let a brilliant green firework loose. It exploded high over the rooftops of Draco’s home, leading to a cheer from the multitude of people gathered.

George’s wand was the next to point skyward. A crackling orange firework escaped his wand, soon followed by members of the Order and the underground loosing dozens of fireworks into the midmorning air.

Dennis’ battle cry rang out louder than any of the explosions. “Let the rebellion begin!”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“Did you hear that?” Hermione asked as she and Draco closed the heavy door of his potions cabinet. Far down in the basement as they were, the unmistakable sound of an explosion had reached their ears.

“Yeah,” Draco said softly. “Come on, we’ll take a look.”

They stole up together, taking the secret entrance to the tower. When they reached the little room, Draco shut the entrance door and went straight to the window.

“Blast these thorns,” he muttered, trying to get a peek through the tiny gaps in the vines. Weak winter sunlight filtered through, but he couldn’t see much beyond that.

“It sounded like fireworks to me,” Hermione declared, squeezing in next to Draco and squinting her eyes to see beyond the brambles.

“Fireworks?” Draco echoed, pulling away from the window. “Fireworks. Yeah!”

“What?” Hermione asked, turning to watch him pace the tiny room.

Draco gave her an excited smile. “Fireworks! Dennis always told me that when he staged his big final rebellion, he would use fireworks.”

“Then you think it’s him?” Hermione asked, seeming skeptical.

“Come on,” he said simply, taking her hand and pulling her to the stairs. They ran down the steps and into the entry hall on the first floor, stopping at the huge, thorn-covered window next to the door. Draco and Hermione pressed their faces against the glass, straining to see through the tiny cracks.

“Do you see that?” Draco breathed.

She did. Hermione couldn’t believe her eyes. Hundreds upon hundreds of people milled around on the street and grass beyond the border of Draco’s property. Small groups stood in every direction she could see, raising their wands to the sky and shouting in exuberance. Innumerable fireworks, exploding in every color of the rainbow, cracked in the cloudy sky.

“He brought it here,” Hermione said at last, barely daring to breathe. “Zabini brought the rebellion here.”

“You really think he did all this?” Draco asked, putting a hand on her shoulder and trying to see over her head.

Hermione nodded. “Who else could have brought the Order _and_ the underground to the same place?”

Draco nodded back in understanding. “Dennis must be setting off the fireworks to bring people here. I’d say Voldemort and all his supporters will be here in a matter of minutes.”

Hermione bit her lip, trying to make out anyone she knew in the blurred crowd standing far away. “I think I see George! I’d know that red hair anywhere. And that looks like Cho! Oh, if only I had my wand with me!”

“I think I see Theodore!” Draco exclaimed. “Dennis has to be in there somewhere, too.”

“They came for me,” Hermione said, her voice clouding with emotion. “I can’t believe it. After all this time, the Order is finally here.”

Draco let his eyes fall to the ground, pulling back away from the window. This was it – the moment he had been waiting for seven years to see. The beginning of his end.

“I guess you’ll be a free bird again, Granger,” he said, trying to sound cheerful. “This is the beginning of a whole new world for you. You’ll be leading the way into the next era, no doubt.”

Hermione finally pulled away from the window as well and turned to face him, giving him a fiery look. “It’s the beginning of your new world, too, Draco. When the Order gets me out, you’re coming with me.”

“It’s impossible, Hermione –”

“I’m not leaving without you,” she said firmly. He didn’t reply, just set his mouth in a firm line. She wished she could make him feel what she felt – a certainty that this wasn’t the end for him, that she was going to fight until her last breath to give him the freedom he had suffered for. She wanted to reach out and hold him, to cradle his face in her hands and tell him that they would make it to the end together.

“This is your time, Hermione,” he said, reaching out and taking one of her hands in both of his. “This is what you’ve been waiting for.”

“It’s your time, too,” she said, and she hoped she sounded as confident as she felt. “This is your second chance.”


	15. To Love a Beast

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My dear, dear friends, it's finally here - the final chapter. It's been an incredible journey for me; you have no idea what an experience this was for me, and you all are a big part of that. Thank you so much for everyone who has read and reviewed this story. I hope very much that you've enjoyed it as much as I have, and that this conclusion is everything you hoped it would be.
> 
> I'll miss you all, but please know that I've been honored to write this for you. As always, read, review, and enjoy the final chapter of "Bittersweet and Strange" :)

A deafening crack resounded in the street and lawn in front of Draco Malfoy’s house, as dozens of Death Eaters, Ministry employees, and loyal supporters of the dark lord Voldemort appeared. They brandished their wands defensively, seeming awed at what they had Apparated into the middle of.

And what a sight it was! Voldemort’s minions were grossly outnumbered, and Neville Longbottom couldn’t help grinning at the thought. _After all these years, we have the upper hand again._

Dennis Creevey led the first wave of fifty underground fighters, charging straight into the mob of enemies before them. Blurs of light and color rocketed through the midmorning air as the battle began. Cries of triumph and pain were traded as quickly as spells and curses.

Angelina Johnson stayed back from the first wave of fighting, watching in amazement as several Death Eaters were downed by infuriated common laborers. Corban Yaxley was the first Death Eater to die, writhing on the ground for a few moments after being destroyed by Lee Jordan’s curse. Angelina and several other Order members began forming a barrier around the fighting ground, creating a human chain so that no enemy fighters could escape the area.

“Keep up the fireworks!” Neville shouted to Angelina from across the lawn. “We’re rounding everybody up!”

Angelina answered him by loosing an explosion of blue from her wand. “Well, you heard the general!” she shouted over the din to the people gathered around her. “Let’s make some noise!”

Dean Thomas gave a loud whoop and followed Angelina’s example, as did Michael Corner and Padma Patil. Angelina saw a young girl, no more than fifteen years old, pulling several of her fellow underground members closer to her, and they rallied an enormous firework into the air.

Cho Chang was in the very heart of the battle, surrounded on every side by enraged dark wizards and witches. She kept a death grip on her wand, firing hexes and shouting curses with every bit of energy she had. Her _Stupefy_ spell slammed into the heart of Augustus Sparrow, the well-known slave trader, and knocked him senseless to the ground. A short-haired girl next to her, wearing the uniform of a Ministry employee, was _Accio_ -ing the wands out of the enemies’ hands, and Cho glimpsed Theodore Nott behind her, muttering Unforgiveable Curses in every direction.

Near the edges of the battle line, George Weasley and Luna Lovegood fought back-to-back, taking Voldemort’s supporters down one by one. When Luna tripped over a fallen Death Eater, George hauled her back to her feet and stood in front of her, indicating that she should stun the wizards coming up behind them. Luna almost felt suffocated at the throng of people crowding in on her, but she gritted her teeth and kept firing curses with all her might.

“Get help!” a shout rang out from Nigel Wolpert’s left. “Go get help!”

Nigel spun around to see who had shouted, and when he saw Amycus Carrow, he shouted, _“Diffindo!”_ and left Carrow to bleed out on the ground. He was too late to stop Alecto, whom Amycus had shouted to, from Apparating away, undoubtedly to rally support for their dwindling numbers.

“Dennis!” Nigel shouted, pushing his way through the crowd to get to the underground leader, who was grinning from ear to ear as the despised enemy fell at his feet. “We have to put up anti-Apparition charms on the battlefield! They’re bringing more Death Eaters here any minute!”

Dennis didn’t appear disturbed and fired a Cruciatus Curse over his shoulder. “So? The second wave of underground fighters is due any second. Whatever they’ve got, we’ve got more of.”

Right on cue, another round of Apparition cracks filled the air as a huge group of underground fighters appeared on the battlefield, led by Ernie MacMillan. They didn’t hesitate a second before joining the melee and attacking enemy witches and wizards. Nigel couldn’t help shaking his head before joining them. This really was the beginning of a new age.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“I know they’re here somewhere. Just give me a second.”

Hermione didn’t respond to Draco’s words, just kept looking over her shoulder as though Voldemort himself might appear behind her any second. As soon as the battle had begun on his front lawn, Draco had pulled Hermione away from the window, insisting that he had something in the basement that would help the Order and the underground. They stood over a trunk in Draco’s basement as he rummaged through it, looking for something he hadn’t yet told her about.

“Hurry, Draco,” Hermione mused. “We need to get back upstairs.”

“I know, I’m just – aha! Here they are!” Draco yanked something from the bottom of the trunk, holding it up triumphantly before shoving it into Hermione’s hands and reaching back into the trunk.

She looked at the object skeptically. “What is this?”

“That,” he said matter-of-factly, pulling out several more identical objects, “is a Bombtastic Bomb. They were exclusively sold at –”

“At Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes,” Hermione finished, her eyes growing wide. “How on earth did you get hold of these?”

“I asked Blaise and Theodore to bring me some a few years ago,” he explained. “Sort of a defense device that I didn’t have to use a wand for. And look,” he added, pulling something else out of the trunk. “A Blaze Box, and Wildfire Whiz-Bangs. All black market, of course.”

“Of course,” Hermione laughed, turning the objects over in her hands. “This will be perfect. But how do you plan on getting them out of the house? The doors and windows are covered in thorns.”

“True,” he admitted, gathering a handful of each item and gesturing for Hermione to follow him up the stairs. “But I think I have a way. When I was transporting potions to Dennis from inside the house, we used a trapdoor on the top of the roof. I can’t leave the house, but a person from the underground could climb onto the roof and take things that I tied to ropes.”

Hermione nodded. “So you’ll use that?”

“No, you will.”

Hermione’s eyes widened in surprise, and Draco laughed as they entered the hallway and began heading for the top floor. “I know, I know. But listen, all it will take is a tiny sip of the floating potion, and you can float high enough out of the trapdoor to throw these explosives onto the battlefield. Just make sure you don’t hit any of your people.”

“But I’m bound to the house!” she countered, trying not to drop any of the materials as they reached the top of the stairs. “I can’t get out if I’m bound here.”

“No, I’m bound to the house,” he corrected. “You’re bound to me. As long as I’m under the trapdoor, you can float up a little ways. I’ll be handing the explosives to you from down there.”

She gave him a small smile as they went inside a small room of the highest floor of the house. A yellow cord dangled from the ceiling, and Draco pulled it down to reveal a square door, which sprung open and revealed a cloudy sky above them. Hermione admired it for a moment, realizing that it was the first time she had seen the sky in almost four months.

“Are you ready?” Draco asked, arranging the items on a nearby table and pulling a tiny vial of the flying potion out of his pocket. Hermione glanced at him, then at the Bombtastic Bomb he had in his hand. She gave him a mischievous smile.

“Give me thirty seconds,” she instructed, darting out of the room and leaving him surprised. Draco waited for what seemed like more than thirty seconds, but he finally heard her quick footsteps echoing up the stone staircase. When she turned the corner into the little room, Draco couldn’t help but laugh when he saw what she was holding.

“Firewhiskey!” he exclaimed as she set the bottles on the table. She smiled proudly in response. “That’s brilliant!”

She pulled the cork off one of the bottles and began dousing the bombs with the amber liquid, barely suppressing her smile. “This should give them quite a kick. Even if they’re not deadly, they’ll provide a nice surprise for all of Voldemort’s friends. Especially with the help of my wandless magic,” she added, grinning at him.

Draco couldn’t help grinning back as he watched her. “That’s brilliant,” he repeated, shaking his head before reaching out to help her. “You’re absolutely brilliant.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

George had slowly been trying to inch his way closer to Draco’s house, hoping to find something to indicate Hermione was in there, but passage through the heavy battle was nearly impossible. Luna yelped in pain behind him, and he whirled around to catch her, noting a bad wound on her right arm.

“Angelina!” George called, signaling to his friend on the outskirts. “Get Luna out of here!”

Angelina left her place on the edge and rushed to help Luna stay on her feet. Luna gave her a grateful smile but seemed unable to speak. George and Angelina each took one of her arms and pulled her out of the line of fire.

“Apparate her back to the Fortress, George,” Angelina ordered. “Neville’s got me watching the battle lines.”

George’s response was interrupted by Luna. “No, George, they need you here. I’ll be fine. Just let me stay here and help however I can. I’m not useless yet,” she smiled.

Angelina and George exchanged a quick look, but they knew they wouldn’t have time to argue. Angelina was about to reach for Luna’s arm to bring her closer to the grass, but Luna suddenly interjected again. Eyes wide, she pointed to the top of Draco Malfoy’s house. “Look! Look up there!”

George and Angelina turned to face the house, and they nearly fell over at what they saw – Hermione Granger, floating just above the rooftop, firing round black objects into the raging battle. George watched in amazement as the bomb floated through the air as if guided by some unseen magic, then lighted on the head of Thorfinn Rowle, practically blowing his head to bits.

“Do you know what that was?” George crowed, looking excitedly at Angelina and Luna. “That was a Bombtastic Bomb, courtesy of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes!”

“That’s impossible…” Angelina murmured, watching as another of the deadly bombs made a direct hit on an enemy witch.

George shook his head, fixing his gaze on Hermione as she hurled something that crackled and fizzed as it fell. He couldn’t fight the wave of admiration that washed over him. Even from a hopeless prison, she was still fighting and still being creative. “She’s given them some kind of extra kick. The original bombs weren’t that destructive. She’s made some sort of improvement.” He shook his head again. “She’s incredible.”

Hermione’s head disappeared under the rooftop again, and George remembered that his friends still needed him in the battle. “Just stay out of sight, Luna,” he instructed her. “Apparate out if you’re about to get caught.”

“I know,” she replied softly, her eyes seeming glazed as she looked ahead. “But, look, there’s…”

Luna didn’t have to finish. Angelina muffled a scream as the three Order members saw Penelope Clearwater get hit by a deadly spell and disintegrate into a thousand pieces. Angelina leapt forward, followed closely by George, and fired a vicious, _“Avada Kedavra!”_ on the Death Eater who had just killed Penelope. She and George worked as a team to cut down the enemy every chance they had.

The Death Eaters’ reinforcements soon arrived, immediately followed by a second wave of underground fighters. The battle raged even more fiercely, punctuated occasionally by an explosion thrown from the roof of Draco’s house. Angelina felt she might choke on the tangle of bodies and spells that cluttered the yard. She hadn’t seen so much fighting and death since the Battle of Hogwarts. She felt like she had been fighting for hours.

“Angelina!” a voice called out behind her. It was Neville, grimacing painfully from a gash on his neck. “You’re supposed to be watching the battle lines!”

“I’m helping George!” she called back, firing an _Expelliarmus_ to her left side.

Neville pushed closer to her. “I’ll stick with George! Get back and help the younger ones guard the edges. I overheard one of the Death Eaters saying –” He stopped short, glaring at something behind Angelina’s head. She turned to see and felt George do the same.

An explosion louder than a sonic boom rocked the yard, ushered by a billowing black cloud and tendrils of green smoke that curled above the heads of the witches and wizards on the battlefield. The fighting seemed to slow for a moment as every head turned to see the source of the explosion.

“Voldemort,” Angelina whispered, the hair on her arms suddenly standing straight up. She reached for George’s hand and held it tightly, feeling her heart pounding in her throat. The Dark Lord was flanked on every side by his elite Death Eaters, many of whom Angelina didn’t know. Voldemort looked even worse than she remembered, his eyes sunken into his sallow skin, his withered hands gripping the Elder Wand like a vise.

Neville stepped forward to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Angelina and George. They held their breath as they waited to see what the next phase of the battle would be.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“Draco, he’s here!” Hermione cried, pushing herself down through the trapdoor to get out of sight. Draco tugged her ankles down and helped her get steadied on the floor, the effects of the potion already wearing off.

“Voldemort?” he asked tightly, and Hermione nodded. Draco looked away, the wheels of his brain turning a mile a minute. Furrowing his eyebrows, he seemed to come to a conclusion and addressed Hermione again. “Hermione, you’ve got to get away from me.”

Hermione scoffed. “I’m not leaving you, Draco.”

“Yes, you are,” he insisted, pulling her by the arm into the hallway. “Voldemort knows I’m here, and he’ll be coming in here any minute now to get me to safety. I’m his Horcrux, after all. But he doesn’t know you’re here. If he finds you, you won’t even have time to blink before you’re Avada Kedavra’d into the floor.”

“I’m not leaving you to face him alone,” Hermione argued. “We’ve been through this much together, and I’ll be hanged if I let you walk into the darkness alone.”

Draco gave her an imploring look, gripping her upper arms and forcing her to look right into his eyes. “Hermione, you know how I feel. I’ve never told you, but you must know. So when I tell you that dying for you and your cause and my cause is the closest I’ll ever get to being whole again, believe me.” He paused, reaching his hand up to push the straggling bangs out of Hermione’s eyes. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, Hermione Granger, and I can never thank you enough. So just let me help you in the only way I know how.”

Hermione could feel tears forming in her eyes, and she quickly reached up to pull Draco into her arms. He held onto her tightly, trying to memorize every detail of her for the last time. When they pulled away, Draco swallowed the lump in his throat as he looked into her warm brown eyes. _There’s never enough time for us._

“All right, Draco,” she whispered, sounding more tired than upset. “All right.”

Draco gave her a soft smile, reaching up to caress her hair one more time before he turned and walked out the door, not looking back as he did. Hermione blinked back her tears and began gathering the explosives off the table. No matter what she said, she wasn’t nearly through fighting.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“Where is he?” Angelina demanded. “Voldemort was here just a moment ago, and now he’s vanished. Where is he?”

Neville looked around in confusion, most of the people on the battlefield doing the same. After Voldemort’s dramatic appearance, his Death Eaters had surrounded him and provided a shield for whatever he had just done. Voldemort was gone, and that worried Neville.

“Maybe he’s gone back to wherever he came from,” Cho replied, seeming unconvinced by her own statement.

Everyone, regardless of allegiance, whirled when a shout rang out from the edges of the battlefield. “Look, the wards are coming down!”

Neville watched in awe as the dark, oppressive wards that had been surrounding Draco Malfoy’s house slowly vanished, lowering to the ground and disintegrating in a matter of seconds. The house suddenly seemed less ominous, the grounds less desolate. The thorns and the heavy vines covering the house remained where they were, but the magical block that had enveloped the house for so many years finally vanished.

“I never thought I’d see the day,” Blaise Zabini muttered from behind Neville, his voice sounding shocked. Narcissa Malfoy stood several yards away, her eyes wide and her hands covering her mouth.

“Hermione’s in there,” Angelina reminded them quietly. “We can get to her now!”

Neville held out a hand to stop her. “Hold on a minute. Look at the door.”

The few nearby Order members looked at the large wooden front door of Draco’s house as the vines slowly parted, the thorns creating an archway large enough for someone to pass beneath. The door closed a few moments later, though no one seemed to have passed through.

“He’s inside!” Blaise told them frantically. “Voldemort’s gotten inside the house!”

George cursed. “He must have the Invisibility Cloak, then. Well, what are we waiting for? We came here for Hermione!”

“So we did,” Neville agreed. “George, Angelina, find Michael and get him to see if he can keep the wards down. The rest of you, keep fighting. We’re not through this battle yet.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Hermione could hear a commotion on the first floor, and she knew Voldemort must have entered the house by now. She scrambled to gather as many of the exploding pranks as possible into her arms and dashed into the hallway.

Hermione Granger was never one to rush into a situation blindly. Everything she did, every day of her life, was carefully planned, carefully crafted for success. Running headfirst into an extremely dangerous situation was completely against her nature, but she did it anyway. _Why?_ she asked herself. She knew the answer.

She kept her back to the wall as she edged her way down the hallway, eyeing the staircase carefully. She could make out some sounds on the first floor, but she was too far away to tell what was going on. Satisfied that the staircase was safe, Hermione jogged down the steps to the second floor and stopped at the door to the tower stairs.

It only made sense that if Voldemort had entered the house, the protective wards must have been taken down. Her mind flashed back to what Draco had said – _“you’re bound to me, not the house”_ – and she ran up the tower steps as fast as she could, ignoring a louder noise from the downstairs. As much as she wanted to go downstairs to help Draco herself, she knew that without her wand she would be practically useless. Her only option was to get help.

With the wards down, the oppressive vines and thorns that sealed the tower window were at last possible to hack through. Hermione used the corner of the heaviest book she could find to beat at the thorns until she could see daylight through them. The swirls and shouts from the battle on the front lawn were much closer than they had been from the roof, and Hermione hacked at the vines with all her might.

Her hands grew bloody and raw from the thickets, but finally the opening in the heavy vines was large enough for Hermione to fit her head and shoulders through. She could see Neville and Angelina nearest to her from the battlefield, and she shouted with all her might, “NEVILLE! ANGELINA! I’M HERE!”

The noise of the fighting below was too great for Hermione’s voice to be heard, so she resorted to her next idea. Picking up a Whiz-Bang, she hurled it through the opening in the thorns; she then reached out her hand and closed her eyes, and the wandless magic she had been learning for the past few months flowed out effortlessly. The Whiz-Bang, guided by her magic, landed directly behind Neville, not hitting any dark wizards or witches, but effectively getting Neville’s attention.

“I’m here!” she shouted as loudly as she could muster, waving her arms when Neville turned around to see her. Neville tagged Angelina on the shoulder and pointed up at Hermione, who kept waving her arms and shouting. Neville and Angelina, quickly joined by George and Cho, formed a small group and began fighting their way through the tangle of people towards the front door of Draco’s house.

Hermione stifled the tears that threatened to spill over, overwhelmed that her friends, her family, were finally so close. She pushed away from the window sill, gathered her explosives, and headed back for the tower entrance. She wasn’t sure how she was going to get downstairs and to Draco, but she would at least have help on the way.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“It’s Granger!” Theodore shouted above the din of the battle. Blaise was a few yards behind him and Narcissa a few yards ahead, and both turned to see Hermione’s head disappear back through the vines in the tower window.

“How did she –” Blaise started, then looked at Theodore and shouted, “If she can get through the vines, so can we!”

Narcissa didn’t reply but started toward the house, firing a swift curse at anyone who stood in her path. Blaise and Theodore quickly followed her and shoved their way past the tangle of witches and wizards, which only seemed to grow thicker as more and more underground fighters arrived.

Blaise shook Theodore’s shoulder to get his attention. “The Order!” he yelled over the noise, and Theodore followed Blaise’s pointed finger to see Neville, Angelina, Cho, and George already beating furiously at the thorns on a tall window. Narcissa saw them, too, and Blaise and Theodore followed her to the little group of Order members.

“Can we get inside?” Narcissa shouted, her voice hoarse and tired from her long night.

Angelina looked surprised to see the Malfoy matriarch referring to them as ‘we’. “Don’t know yet,” she shrugged. “Cho is trying to charm the vines away from the window, but they seem too solid.”

“Voldemort is in the house with them!” Narcissa argued. “He may raise the wards back if we don’t get in there right now!”

“We’re doing our best!” Angelina shouted back.

Narcissa’s eyes flashed in determination, and Blaise and Theodore instinctively took a step back; they had seen that look before. Narcissa raised her wand, closed her eyes, and began moving her lips in words that were unfamiliar to the young people. Angelina and George watched her in confusion, and even Cho stopped her spellcasting when she saw the glowing stream that Narcissa’s wand was emitting. Neville raised his eyebrows at Blaise, but Blaise simply watched as the magic from Narcissa’s wand entwined itself through the vines.

Theodore glanced over his shoulder and saw a large figure lurking behind them, wand raised in attack. He shouted a curse but missed, and the figure – whom Theodore recognized as Fenrir Greyback – ducked behind a column.

“Hurry, Narcissa!” Angelina pushed, and Narcissa abruptly jerked her wand backwards. The vines responded to her simple spell, tearing down the center and leaving an opening wide enough for the group to climb through.

_“Finestra!”_ Angelina muttered, and the glass in the dome-shaped window shattered almost soundlessly, falling in pieces at their feet.

George was the first to jump through the window, followed by Neville and Cho. Theodore held out his hand to help Narcissa through the frame, but she was already halfway through when he turned to her. Neville was the last to step through the window, and his foot had just touched the ground when a streak of light zipped right past his head.

“They know we’re coming in,” Neville told them, trying to keep his voice hushed. The noise of battle was muted from inside Draco’s house, and they didn’t want to alert Voldemort to their presence. “We have to keep Voldemort’s people from coming in. Cho, Nott, stay here with me to help keep the enemy out. George and Angelina, go find Hermione.”

George nodded sharply. “We’re coming, too,” Narcissa added, indicating herself and Blaise. “My son is in great danger, and I won’t leave him to Voldemort’s mercy.”

“Fine,” Neville agreed. “Now go! We don’t have much time!”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Draco could sense Voldemort’s presence more strongly than he had in years; it blanketed the entire house in webs of death and decay. As a Horcrux, he was especially attuned to the dark lord’s moods and environment, and the sensation of being so close to Voldemort again was truly sickening. He hadn’t seen Voldemort since – 

_A flash of light. A scream of pain. A wicked laugh. Draco felt a part of him vanish forever as Voldemort’s soul took hold in his own. The very process of creating a Horcrux revolved around death and suffering, and Draco couldn’t keep from howling as a wave of pure evil enveloped him and fused him irreparably with the dark lord Voldemort himself._

Draco shuddered at the memory, but he kept walking. He wasn’t sure where in the house Voldemort was, but he knew he was getting closer. A shuffling of feet in one of the empty rooms of the first floor alerted Draco to Voldemort’s whereabouts, and he pushed onwards toward the sound.

It was Draco that Voldemort was after – he knew that for certain. Voldemort couldn’t allow his last Horcrux to be jeopardized, and a history-making battle outside Draco’s house didn’t exactly guarantee his safety. Voldemort was undoubtedly planning to get Draco away from the fighting; it was the only reason Draco could think of for why Voldemort hadn’t put the wards back up.

The sounds of the raging battle grew dimmer as Draco stepped into the empty room and came face-to-face with Voldemort. Unwelcome memories came flooding back to him – his time as a Death Eater, the torture that had led to his imprisonment, his traumatic Horcrux transformation – and he swallowed a wave of nausea.

“Draco,” Voldemort rasped, the semblance of a smile on his sunken face. “Come to me, my son.”

Draco’s skin crawled at the thought, or maybe at the insinuation that Voldemort might consider him a son. “What do you want with me?” Draco had little desire to have a conversation with Voldemort, but if he could buy Hermione enough time, maybe she could get out before Voldemort knew she was there. He shifted his position slightly, blocking Voldemort’s view of the hallway.

“You must be protected.” The dark lord’s slitted eyes bored into Draco. “You know that I must keep you safe at all costs, Draco.”

Draco swallowed, trying to ignore the way his stomach knotted in fear. “Even at the cost of your Death Eaters?”

Voldemort scoffed, seeming surprised that Draco even had to ask. “Death Eaters are easily replaced. A Horcrux, on the other hand, is irreplaceable.”

_“Rise, my Horcrux,” Voldemort had said, his eyes black with an evil concentration. Draco didn’t have the strength to stand, so he stayed on his knees, trying to pretend that none of this was really happening. Godric, it just couldn’t be._

Draco blinked the memory away, reminding himself to stay focused. “So irreplaceable that you keep me imprisoned like a wild creature?”

“That is exactly why I keep you caged, Draco,” Voldemort purred, taking steps closer to Draco. “Because you are irreplaceable. And you certainly have the face of a creature,” he added, his wicked smile looking exactly the way it had the night Voldemort covered Draco’s face with those scars.

“I’d do it all again,” Draco said contemptuously. “That battle outside will be the last one your forces ever fight. You’ve lost.”

Voldemort didn’t lose his smile. “Hardly. Perhaps my forces are outnumbered. I do not care if I lose them. As long as I have you, my life cannot be threatened nor my power vanquished. Now, we are wasting time. Come,” he commanded, holding out a bony hand.

Draco took a step back and shook his head. _Just buy as much time as you can_. “I’m not going anywhere. You’ve used me and my family for the last time. Believe me, this is your last stand.”

“No, my son,” Voldemort said silkily. “I will never have a last stand. You must know by now that I cannot be defeated.”

“Never,” Draco hissed.

_The Death Eaters cheered, raising their wands and sending sparks up toward the black sky. Voldemort laughed hollowly as he turned back to Draco, his eyes narrowing as he knelt beside him and lifted Draco’s head. Draco tried to gather the strength to spit in Voldemort’s face, but he had none left. Voldemort gave him a wicked smile, then shouted, “Crucio!” as he stood._

The memory gave Draco the incentive to do just what he hadn’t been able to do five years ago. As Voldemort lifted the Elder Wand to force Draco to his will, Draco spat straight into Voldemort’s ugly face.

The dark lord let out an enraged growl, and Draco made a run for it, into the sitting room where he could find a place to hide and stall a few more minutes. Hearing Voldemort follow him into the hallway, Draco ducked behind a heavy blue curtain and held his breath. _Merlin, I hope she’s out of here_.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“She was upstairs when we saw her,” George whispered loudly to Angelina. She, George, Narcissa, and Blaise had managed to sneak through a back window quietly, and so far there were no signs of life. Angelina nodded in response to George, then held up a finger to tell them to listen.

“He’s in here somewhere,” Blaise whispered. None of them had to ask who he meant.

Angelina gestured toward the foot of a large stone staircase that was nearby the window they had climbed in. “We’ll go up and find Hermione. Zabini, Narcissa, stay here and watch the window and the surrounding rooms. Give a shout if we’re discovered.”

Blaise nodded, but Narcissa shook her head vehemently. “My son is trapped somewhere in here with Voldemort. I will not leave him to be destroyed.”

“Don’t go after him just yet,” Angelina ordered her. “Once we have Hermione, we’ll do what we can for Malfoy, but I need you to stay here.”

Narcissa hesitated, but the look in Angelina’s eyes convinced her. “Fine. But I’ll only wait a few minutes.”

Angelina nodded curtly, tugged on George’s arm, and began jogging up the stairs as quietly as possible. “Do you think we can trust them?” George asked her softly when they were out of earshot.

She shrugged and stepped onto the second floor gingerly. “Maybe. Either way, all that matters is finding Hermione and getting her out. She doesn’t have her wand, and Voldemort is probably after her by now.”

George nodded in agreement, but both stayed silent as they crept along the silent upper hallway. “Where do we look?”

“You check the doors to the right,” Angelina instructed him. “I’ll take the left. Go quickly but be as quiet as you can.”

George was already starting down the hallway, so Angelina tried the first few doors on the left side of the hallway. Some were locked, and others were empty. She sighed, praying desperately that she could find Hermione before it was too late.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Hermione was not on the second floor, nor the first floor, nor even the third floor. She was, in fact, in the basement.

After sneaking down the passageway in the second floor room, Hermione had been able to concoct a plan she was quite proud of. From the basement, she could hear the entire first floor and tell exactly where Draco and Voldemort were. She couldn’t get pinned down, either, because she could take the passageway or the tower staircase as an exit.

Someone else had entered the house as well, but Hermione wasn’t sure who. She assumed it was a group of Order members looking for her, but she wasn’t about to give up her upper hand and walk right into a group of Death Eaters. Besides, she had no intention of leaving with the Order until she had ensured Draco’s escape as well.

Draco’s footsteps had ended somewhere in the sitting room, and Hermione assumed he was hiding there. Voldemort had followed him from the hallway but seemed unsure of which room Draco was in. Hermione listened intently, trying to stay directly under Voldemort’s path as he stalked through the first floor. Most of the floors in Draco’s house were stone and were therefore useless for her purposes, but if she could somehow lure Voldemort into the old house-elf room – the only room with a wooden floor – maybe she could…

Voldemort switched directions and started towards the house-elf room, so Hermione made her move. Uncorking Draco’s flying potion and smiling as she recalled the fiery blast it had created that morning, Hermione set the potion under the wooden floor and poured firewhiskey straight into the vial. 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“What was that?” Cho demanded, looking over her shoulder at Neville. A deafening explosion had shaken the entire house, even from their position at the broken window.

“Explosion of some sort,” Theodore responded, firing a curse past Cho and right into the face of a dark witch. “Somebody inside the house blew something up.”

“Should we go check?” Cho asked. The people streaming toward the broken window were quickly becoming overwhelming to the three young people, and Cho was anxious to get out of the line of fire.

Neville kept his eyes looking out the window as he answered her. “George and Angelina will have it under control. What’s important now is keeping these people out of the house.”

Theodore winced as a glowing green bolt whizzed past him and singed his shoulder. “I don’t think we’ll be able to hold them off much longer.”

Neville started to argue, but Cho interrupted him. “Nott’s right, Neville. We’ve got to get to a safer spot or we’re all dead.”

Several more curses punctuated her words and hit the wall behind them, and Neville finally grunted in agreement. “Fine. Nott, head left. Cho, go right. Just get to a safe spot and kill anyone who comes through that window.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Draco felt the entire house shake as a wave of heat washed over him. The explosion came from somewhere in the west side of the house, but he wasn’t sure which room. He also wasn’t sure what could have caused it. Surely no one was stupid enough to sneak into his house and try to bait Voldemort? Maybe Theodore, but surely no one else.

He focused on regrouping and following through with his plan. He needed to get Voldemort as far away from the staircases as possible, since that was undoubtedly where Hermione would be making her escape. Draco had been certain that Voldemort would follow him into the sitting room, but he hadn’t counted on an earth-shattering explosion distracting them both.

Oh, sweet Salazar. Surely it wasn’t Hermione who had –

Who else? So she was still determined to keep him from meeting his fate. Draco shook his head in frustration and headed towards the source of the explosion. If one of them was going to die in this fight, it wasn’t going to be her. He would make sure of that.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Hermione was surprised at the intensity of the explosion, especially combined with the firewhiskey and the wooden floor. Draco had already burned a small hole in the ceiling that morning, but Hermione’s homemade flamethrower that practically incinerated the entire wooden area. Charred edges of the wood were still smoldering, and Hermione ducked away from the gaping hole so that none of the falling pieces would hit her.

The footsteps that had been leading to the house-elf room – Hermione could only assume they were Voldemort’s – stopped, and she was unsure of where he was. She didn’t know where Draco was either, which worried her, but she was determined to go ahead with her plan anyway.

Gathering the materials she had brought with her from the upstairs, Hermione eased her way towards the door that led to the tower staircase. Footsteps on the upper floors became louder and more chaotic, and Hermione hurriedly closed the door behind her and dashed up the steps. The second floor was her destination now.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“It came from downstairs,” George called to Angelina, not even bothering to keep his voice down anymore. Angelina came on the run to meet George in the middle of the second floor hallway, and they didn’t speak again, just bolted down the staircase to the first floor.

Blaise was still waiting, wand drawn and ready, at the foot of the staircase, but Narcissa was gone when George and Angelina reached the first floor.

“Where is Narcissa?” Angelina demanded.

Blaise pointed towards the west side of the house. “The explosion came from over there. She’s afraid it might have been Draco.”

“More likely Hermione,” George commented. Angelina and Blaise fell into step behind George as he slowly began walking towards the source of the explosion.

The halls were deadly silent now, the crackling from the explosion growing fainter by the second. The noises of the battle outside were growing quieter as well, as if the fighting were slowly coming under control. Angelina could only pray that it was their side who was winning.

“Someone’s moving around upstairs,” Blaise whispered to them. “Who else is in the house?”

Angelina shook her head. “I don’t know. Just stay focused.”

They crept closer to the explosion site, George leading them and listening intently. He suddenly stopped cold, held an arm out to stop his companions, and lowered his voice coldly. “It’s Malfoy.”

Angelina looked in the direction George was indicating, then covered her mouth with her free hand, shocked at what she saw. She could barely recognize the youngest Malfoy – his face was completely covered in horrific scars and mutilations. His skin was chalky white, making him practically glow against the cold stone walls around him.

“What’s he doing?” George whispered to Blaise.

The Slytherin shrugged in response. “Probably looking for us.” Blaise held up a hand and whistled softly to get Draco’s attention. Angelina nearly cringed when Draco looked straight at them, his face even worse from head-on. She took a breath to steady herself and joined George and Blaise in carefully edging towards Draco.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Draco could hardly believe his eyes – Blaise Zabini was here in his house, accompanied by Angelina Johnson and one of the Weasley twins. Hermione had been right; they really weren’t going to give up on her.

As the little group headed toward him, Draco remembered his plan. With the three of them so close and Hermione undoubtedly nearby as well, he couldn’t wait any longer. Giving Blaise a meaningful nod, Draco moved away from his stance near the wall and strode straight into the hallway.

Voldemort was in the doorway of the house-elf room, seeming confused as to what had exploded and why no one was nearby. Draco steeled his nerves and spoke loudly and clearly. “I’m here, Voldemort. Just do what you want with me.”

Voldemort turned, glancing in every direction. He knew something was wrong. “What is this game you are trying to play, Draco?” he grated. “First you confront me, then you run away to hide, and now you return. What are you trying to do?”

Draco didn’t respond, just stared directly at Voldemort in defiance. He could hear muffled footsteps and whispers in the hall behind him, undoubtedly of the Order members forming some sort of plan.

“You’re protecting someone,” Voldemort said, realization dawning in his colorless eyes. Draco set his jaw in determination. “There’s someone here whom you are trying to hide from me.”

“The battle has already ranged inside the house,” Draco informed him flatly. “If you don’t get out with me while you can, I’ll be killed.”

Voldemort’s calm façade did not shift. “I am no fool, my boy. Do not try to trick me into leaving something important behind.” His eyes narrowed. “Your mother, perhaps?”

Draco swallowed a lump in his throat. He could only pray that Narcissa was safe, and that no harm would come to her because of him, but she wasn’t in his power to protect. Hermione still was.

Deciding to play along, Draco nodded. “Promise me that no harm will come to her.”

Voldemort didn’t respond, and the skeptical look on his face told Draco that he wasn’t fooled. However, before either of them could continue their conversation, another explosion, this one from the front of the house, rocked the room to its foundation.

Voldemort lunged forward and grabbed Draco’s arm, pushing him into the doorway behind him defensively. Draco saw George and Blaise duck into another doorway, and he signaled to them to move away while Voldemort was distracted.

“The front of the house,” Voldemort hissed. “They’ve blown it away.” He turned sharply and seized Draco’s arm again, dragging him down the hallway. “Apparition is too dangerous. We will floo to a safe location.”

Draco didn’t fight. If this was how he had to keep Voldemort away from Hermione, then so be it. They passed the door that George and Blaise were hiding behind, but Voldemort was too focused on getting Draco away from the fighting to notice them.

The fireplace was in Draco’s sitting room, and he didn’t try to pull away as Voldemort prepared to floo them away. Taking a handful of floo powder – which Draco had not used in five years – Voldemort tossed it into the fireplace but stopped short before pulling Draco inside with him.

Voldemort didn’t say a word, just slowly turned to face the doorway of the sitting room. The house was almost completely silent, and Draco held his breath, hoping against hope that Voldemort would just take him somewhere else and be done with it. He felt his heart sink as Voldemort took several slow steps toward the hallway.

Voldemort stepped into the hallway, seeming almost in a trance, leaving Draco completely forgotten. Draco felt his throat tighten with fear. Only one person’s appearance could spark such a reaction in Voldemort.

“You,” Voldemort said emotionlessly. His gaze was tilted up at the staircase, at someone out of Draco’s line of vision. Draco swallowed the lump in his throat and walked as quietly as he could to Voldemort’s side.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Hermione’s blood ran cold as soon as Voldemort stepped out of the sitting room doorway. She was poised on the staircase, a Whiz-Bang in one hand and the bottle of firewhiskey in the other. She had been fully prepared to launch it at the evil wizard’s head and blow him to bits, but she felt herself frozen. His snakelike eyes bored into her, and she barely registered the sound of his toneless remark.

This was the man who had killed Harry Potter and Ron Weasley. This was the man who had crumbled her entire world and forced her to live like an outlaw. This man was the reason almost all her friends were dead. Seeing him face to face after seven years of despising his very name, Hermione was breathless, almost too shaken to move.

Almost. After several moments of blatant staring, Hermione remembered that she had less than three seconds to hurl the homemade bomb and at least critically injure Voldemort. The dark lord was still transfixed by her – Hermione recalled that Voldemort had assumed her dead for the last several years. Capitalizing on his shock, Hermione drew her arm back and took aim directly at Voldemort’s face.

She stopped short when Draco stepped out of the sitting room entrance and stood next to Voldemort. A look of confusion twisted her features, and she realized just in time that hurling the Whiz-Bang at Voldemort would undoubtedly harm Draco as well.

Hermione’s hesitation at Draco’s sudden appearance was all Voldemort needed. Gripping the Elder Wand in his withered hand, Voldemort let loose an ugly curse that whirled at Hermione with blinding speed. She ducked to the side just in time to miss the curse, but another followed it immediately. There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. She was trapped.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Draco didn’t think, didn’t hesitate, didn’t even breathe before reacting. Voldemort sent several rapid-fire curses at Hermione, who managed to dodge the blasts but was trapped in her position on the staircase. Draco instantly lashed out, seizing Voldemort’s arm and redirecting the Elder Wand’s dark violet stream of magic into the ceiling, which was marred with a smoldering black spot.

Voldemort struggled against Draco, but his physical strength was much weaker compared to Draco. Desperation pushed Draco to grapple in ways he had never been forced to do; in a strange moment of recollection, Draco thought back to Hermione punching him in their third year, a decidedly unmagical maneuver that he was imitating at that very moment.

The struggle lasted only a few seconds, but time seemed to move agonizingly slowly for Draco. In what seemed like slow motion, Draco twisted Voldemort’s wrist toward him, reaching his other hand up to snatch the Elder Wand away from the dark lord. Voldemort’s cry of horror and desperation echoed in Draco’s ears as he held the Elder Wand for the first time in his life. In another odd moment of clarity, he noted how ordinary the wand itself felt, but how unusual it was to hold a wand after so many years.

Draco’s world suddenly switched from slow motion into a blur of movement and sound. This was the moment he had been anticipating for five years, the moment that his fate was finally back in his own hands.

He turned the Elder Wand on himself. Voldemort was mere inches away, reaching for the wand but seeming bereaved of strength without it. George, Blaise, and Angelina appeared in the doorway to his left, accompanied by a horrified Narcissa. Draco hoped that they would understand what needed doing.

With his last second of life, Draco lifted his head to see Hermione, who had leaped down most of the stairs and now stood looking at him, one hand reaching toward him and whispering, “Draco…” He could never create a more beautiful sight to see as his last.

Draco closed his eyes, and the Elder Wand almost seemed to act of its own accord. The killing blast went straight into his own heart, and Draco fell to the ground, the beckoning darkness overtaking him at last.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Hermione heard herself scream, but she seemed to be in a trance, completely flabbergasted at seeing Draco Malfoy turn the Elder Wand on himself and fire the killing curse. He lay completely motionless on the floor, his sightless eyes staring straight ahead. Hermione bit her lip to keep from crying out again, and she tore her eyes away from Draco’s body, focusing instead on the withered, snakelike man who was reaching for the Elder Wand, still clutched in Draco’s hand.

She drew back the Whiz-Bang she was holding and released it, using her wandless magic to drive it straight at Voldemort’s head. The dark lord looked up in time to see it coming and ducked, leaving the Elder Wand several feet away from his reach.

George and Angelina were several yards away, but George cleared the distance in seconds. Hermione couldn’t remember the last time she had seen him so enraged, and she thought back on the deaths of the Weasley family – how Voldemort had performed their executions personally. She knew without a doubt that George was seeing those images as well.

_“Avada Kedavra!”_ George shouted at the top of his lungs. The words echoed in the empty house and hung in the air, punctuated by a stream of green magic that hit Voldemort squarely in the chest. The evil wizard was frozen, his mouth open in shock, his bony hands still reaching out for the Elder Wand. Hermione had never known she was capable of such hatred until she saw Voldemort standing before her.

Narcissa stepped forward from the entryway, her wand drawn and her face a mask of despair. _“Avada Kedavra!”_ she said in a chilling voice. Another green bolt slammed into Voldemort’s toppling form. Hermione didn’t see him, but she could hear Blaise’s voice as he sent a third killing curse at Voldemort.

Hermione’s eyes flicked to Draco’s form, lying on the floor next to Voldemort. Tears failed her, as did any emotion. Without taking her eyes from Draco, Hermione muttered, _“Confringo,”_ with all the anger and bitterness and hatred she had ever felt. The body of the dark lord – Voldemort, _Tom Riddle_ , who had ruined the lives of thousands of wizards and witches and who deserved worse punishment than had ever been conceived – exploded into tiny pieces, which hung in the air and gradually blinked out of existence. Voldemort was no more.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“It’s done,” Neville said, his voice betraying his exhaustion. “It’s over.”

The front lawn of Draco’s home was littered with bodies and scorched with the innumerable curses that had flown for the last hour. The cloudy sky was marked with a billow of smoke that had yet to settle. Neville wiped the sting out of his eyes and blinked back tears that had sprung unbidden.

The Order and the underground had won. With overpowering forces and more pent-up vengeance than the world had ever seen, Voldemort’s forces were obliterated, the survivors captured by underground fighters and hauled off to a holding place. The Order members were still walking the battlefield, looking for casualties within their ranks and aiding underground members with their duties. Even Luna, with her nasty arm injury, refused to leave without helping.

Neville knew he should be seeing to whatever the Order needed on the dwindling battlefield, but there was still one person he needed to see first.

Cho and Theodore leaned against the back wall, exhausted from the ferocious fighting. Cho raised her head as Neville stood and began limping down the hallway of Draco’s house. She instantly knew where he was going and struggled to her feet as well to follow. Theodore’s footsteps joined hers a few seconds later.

The three battered soldiers made their way down the hallway, checking inside rooms and halls for any signs of life. The air in the house was chilly and damp, despite the heat generated by the explosions nearby.

“I think I know where they might be,” Theodore finally said. Neville and Cho turned to him and followed Theodore’s path down an adjacent hallway. The house wasn’t enormous, but the halls were confusing, especially to those who hadn’t been inside before.

Theodore was right. He was the first to cross the threshold of the entry hall, and his jaw dropped at what he saw. Draco, lying dead on the floor. Hermione, kneeling next to him and shaking with suppressed sobs. Narcissa, clutching Draco’s hand. Blaise, George, and Angelina stood a few feet away, their faces somber. Voldemort was nowhere to be seen.

Blaise turned to see Theodore as he came in, and he immediately broke away from the group to grab Theodore in a hug. Blaise was rarely so bold, so Theodore knew that whatever had happened in the entry hall must have shaken him badly.

“What happened?” Theodore asked, surprised by the break in his voice.

Blaise’s eyes were blurry as he answered, purposely averting his eyes from Draco. “Voldemort came after Malfoy. Tried to get him away from the fighting. Granger tried to attack Voldemort, but Draco saved her. He killed himself with the Elder Wand so we could kill Voldemort.”

“Voldemort is dead?” Neville asked from behind Theodore.

Blaise nodded. “Because of Malfoy.”

Theodore could imagine Neville and Cho’s surprise at Draco’s sacrifice, but he felt no such amazement. For Blaise and him, it had only been a matter of how Draco would prove his loyalty – not if. Theodore reached out and put a hand on Blaise’s shoulder to comfort him as they both watched the scene before them unfold.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

There was a hole in Hermione’s heart, and it would never be filled again.

As she knelt next to Draco’s body, she felt the first touches of emotion bubbling inside her, but she still was too astonished to react. Draco’s actions had been totally unexpected, though she knew she should have anticipated that he would make the sacrifice himself first. He had saved her and everyone else.

Hermione felt cold from head to toe. Surely she couldn’t be looking at the dead body of Draco Malfoy. It was unfathomable; all the dreams she had had for the future, all the hope she had accumulated during their months together, everything was crushed. She felt hollow, empty, even dead herself. Hermione Granger was no stranger to loss, even the loss of a true love, but she could never remember the crushing ache that enveloped her so completely now.

She was marginally aware of Narcissa on Draco’s other side, and of several more people crowded into the entry hall, but she was wholly focused on Draco. His scarred face was devoid of any life, which was a sight Hermione had never wanted to see. The cruel marks were practically invisible to her now – if anything, they were beautiful reminders of the horrors Draco had endured to do what was right.

He had saved her. Hermione thought back to what Draco had told her what seemed like eons ago. _“You’ve saved me. You are my redemption.”_ What little peace Hermione had been able to bring to him seemed miniscule compared to the sacrifice he had just made for her. She felt sobs welling up in her chest and fought to keep them suppressed.

What was there for her now? How could she continue with her work without Draco at her side? Where was she supposed to go from here?

Her grief was interrupted by a voice that she hadn’t even realized was speaking. So focused was she on Draco’s still face that Hermione took several seconds to realize that Narcissa was talking to her.

“Ms. Granger,” Narcissa said softly, her eyes teary but her voice strong. “There is something I must know.”

Hermione gave Narcissa a blank look, trying to process anything other than the scene she had just witnessed. Unable to find any words, Hermione simply nodded and tried to focus on Narcissa. The older woman didn’t seem defeated, only shaken. Her face was proud and noble as always, and Hermione finally snapped her mind back into focus.

Narcissa spoke softly, so that only Hermione could hear what she was saying. “When Voldemort first cursed Draco to be trapped in his home, and when he first gave him these scars, I was watching from the shadows.” Narcissa’s eyes clouded at the difficult memory, but she pressed on. “I saw the thorns wrap around the windows and the dark clouds form over the roof. I heard every word Voldemort said as he cursed Draco, and I took care of him when Voldemort and his Death Eaters left. I healed his wounds as best I could, and…” she trailed off, seeming unsure of how to finish her story. “I altered Voldemort’s curse.”

Hermione felt the first flicker of hope in her heart, and it must have shown in her eyes based on Narcissa’s reaction. “You altered the curse? How?”

“I had used the spell once before,” Narcissa explained, “so I knew it was possible. It’s simply a reversing charm, and it is capable of reversing any curse, provided it is performed within an hour of the curse’s placement. It requires some sort of condition, something that must happen before the curse can be revoked.”

Hermione’s heart sped up. _There was still a chance_. “What is the condition?” she asked.

Narcissa hesitated, searching Hermione’s face for some kind of answer. Finally, she replied, “The reverse to Voldemort’s curse is that someone had to fall in love with Draco.” She shook her head and continued. “I often wondered if I had chosen something impossible, since no one was allowed to visit Draco except myself for many years. I never even mentioned it to him so he wouldn’t get his hopes up. But I have always held out hope that one day, there would be someone who could see Draco for the man I know he is. My love was enough to save him that day, but someone else’s will have to be enough to save him now.”

Hermione found herself speechless once again, and she looked from Narcissa’s face to Draco’s several times.

“When I saw you in the slave pavilion that day,” Narcissa went on, leaning toward Hermione imploringly, “I sensed that something was different about you – something familiar. I didn’t know then, but now I know why I sensed that. You have great strength, Ms. Granger, and an incredible ability for compassion and leadership. I have seen that many times in the last few months, never more so than just a few moments ago. You were willing to sacrifice yourself for Draco, as he was for you. So now, I can only ask you this, Ms. Granger.” Narcissa paused and looked Hermione straight in the eye. “Do you love my son?”

A moment, gentle as a breeze, passed between the two women, and Hermione felt the wheels of her mind turning. _An act of sacrificial love_ , she remembered reading. _I have no reason to believe that an act of selflessness would not have the same restorative effect on a Horcrux_. Hermione felt emotion welling up in her chest as the full weight of what Narcissa had just told her took hold.

Hermione tore her eyes from Narcissa’s intense gaze and looked back down at Draco’s face, his head cradled in her lap. All the feelings, all the affection, all the passion she had felt for Draco in the last few months suddenly rose to the surface like bubbles in a potion. Hermione had spent the last months hiding her feelings and pretend they were not real. Now, she felt that she would be overwhelmed by the need to say her feelings aloud.

Her gaze never left Draco’s face as she spoke. “I do. I do love him.” Once the words were free, it was as though she couldn’t stop saying them. “I love him. I’ve loved him all this time.” But she wasn’t speaking to Narcissa anymore. The rest of the room was fuzzy, practically invisible now.

“I love you,” she whispered, pulling Draco closer to her and reaching down to speak into his ear. “I love you, Draco Malfoy. I love you. I love you.”

The room was perfectly silent, everyone holding their breath as they watched Hermione hold Draco and whisper to him. Even Narcissa cast her gaze down at the ground again, seemed deflated as nothing happened. Hermione could not bring herself to look up or even to open her eyes. She just clutched him as if somehow her whispered professions of love could bring back the man she adored.

The sound began imperceptibly, humming in the air around Draco. It gradually grew louder, first reaching Narcissa’s ears, then Blaise and Theodore, then George and Angelina and Neville and Cho, and finally Hermione. She still didn’t open her eyes, but the sound was impossible to ignore. It whisked through the room like a dragonfly, wove in between the tendrils of air and smoke, brushed over their faces breezily. It came from every direction and none at all.

“Look,” Blaise said softly, pointing to the window next to where the group was standing. The others turned to see what he was pointing at. Theodore joined his friend’s amazement as they watched the thick, oppressive vines – those vines which had made Draco’s home a prison – slowly unfurl from their knots and detach from the house. Blaise whirled around to look at the windows in the rooms behind him, all of which were magically freed of the thorns as well.

Theodore walked to the window and gripped the windowsill in amazement as he looked outside. “The sun!” he called to Blaise. “The sun is shining! The black clouds are gone!”

Cho looked at Neville in confusion. “What does this mean?” she asked, but Neville didn’t answer, simply kept looking at Draco and Hermione on the floor.

Hermione still hadn’t pulled away from Draco, but she could hear Blaise and Theodore’s amazed responses to the changes that were happening to the house. Had her confession of love broken the curse on the house? It seemed so, but she was hardly concerned with the house. All she cared about was bringing Draco back, but he had yet to stir.

And then he did. Hermione felt the softest touch of his eyelashes brushing against her cheek, then his breath against her neck for the briefest moment. Realizing that her face was wet with tears, Hermione pulled herself away from Draco and watched his face in amazement.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The first thing Draco was aware of was that he was alive, a fact that fully surprised him. The last thing he could remember was grabbing the Elder Wand from Voldemort’s hand and turning the dark lord’s killing curse away from Hermione and onto himself. He had fallen into blackness instantly, and he could remember nothing about what had happened between that and where he was now.

When his milky gray eyes fluttered open, the first thing he saw was Hermione Granger, tears streaking her face and a look of pure, shocked delight in her eyes. They were both frozen for a moment, incredulous that they were seeing one another again alive. When he could feel his hands again, Draco reached up and touched Hermione’s face, brushing away one of the tears that was slipping down her cheek. She gave him a watery smile and a choked laugh, and suddenly she was in his arms and he was sobbing with joy and the rest of the world was nothing but a memory.

_He was alive_. Hermione couldn’t keep herself from sobbing, and she found that she had no desire to. Draco wasn’t dead; he was clinging to her with all his might, as though he would never let go. Hermione held him just as tightly and found herself laughing through her tears.

He kissed her first, gripping her hair in his hands and sitting up so that he could hold her again. Hermione felt his lips on her lips, her cheeks, her nose, and she returned his affection without reservations. When he stopped kissing her and laid his face against her shoulder, Hermione heard him speak softly.

“How?” he asked. “How did…”

Hermione placed her hands on either side of his face and smiled with all the love she felt for him. “Don’t you remember? An act of sacrificial love? It’s enough to destroy a Horcrux, and it’s enough to bring one back.”

A look of confusion crossed Draco’s face, but he didn’t argue, just stroked his fingers through her loose hair. Hermione traced the scars on his face with her fingertips, noting how the scars had remained, despite the curse being removed.

“I’m glad the scars are still there,” Draco said softly, reading her thoughts. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Hermione smiled even wider and kissed him again. “Neither would I.”

After a few more seconds of gazing at one another, Draco and Hermione suddenly remembered that the room was still full of other people. Draco turned his head to see Narcissa, who was kneeling just a few feet away from him.

“Mother,” he managed, his voice thick with emotion, and Narcissa reached forward to hug him as well, stroking his hair and letting tears fall freely down her cheeks. Hermione couldn’t help but smile as she watched them.

Draco looked to his left next and pulled himself to his feet, wobbling a bit as he stood. Blaise and Theodore were by his side in a second to steady him, and Draco pulled each of them into a hug that meant more to them than anyone else could know. “I’m glad you’re here,” Draco said honestly, giving them both a grin.

“Well, we’re glad you’re here,” Theodore joked, slapping Draco on the shoulder. “We just about lost you, mate.”

“I know,” Draco responded.

Neville and the Order members stood quietly to one side, watching the scene unfold and not knowing what to do. Hermione leaped to her feet and ran to them, another wave of emotion rolling over her and she swept all four of her dear friends into an embrace. Neville choked back tears of his own when Hermione hugged him. “It’s been so long,” he stated. “I can’t tell you how we’ve missed you, Hermione.”

“Neither can I,” Hermione admitted, beaming at her friends.

George gave her a wide grin and threw an arm around her shoulders. “We thought we had lost you for good, ‘Mione.”

Angelina nodded emphatically. “We really did. But George never gave up hope,” she added with a meaningful smile at George.

“I knew you were too much of a survivor to let yourself get killed,” George remarked, earning a laugh from Hermione. “Besides, you’re all the family I’ve got left. I couldn’t get along without my best friend.” He winked down at her with a cheeky grin. “That was ruddy good work with those Bombtastic Bombs. I always knew you’d come around to them one day.”

Hermione laughed at that. “Well, it was my idea to douse them in firewhiskey, but it was Draco who…” Hermione stopped, seeing the intrigued looks on her friends’ faces. She turned to see Draco standing with Blaise, Theodore, and Narcissa a few yards behind her. None of them spoke, just watched the Order members interact.

“It was Draco,” Hermione repeated. Taking a step away from her little group, she stretched out both of her hands to Draco, inviting him to step forward and take them. Draco looked at the Order members cautiously, as though they might stop him from even touching Hermione. When none of them made a move, Draco took the step forward and clasped Hermione’s hands in his.

“I’d like you all to meet someone,” Hermione said gently, linking her arm through Draco’s. He felt strangely uncomfortable, as though he weren’t good enough to even speak to Neville or George or Cho, these people who had fought tooth and nail for their lives.

“I believe you all know Draco,” Hermione continued, looking at each of the Order members earnestly. “But I think you’ll find him quite different from when you used to know him. I certainly did,” she added, giving Draco a steady smile.

None of the Order members moved for several moments, seeming too surprised to say anything. Draco looked back at their wondering eyes, too paralyzed to make a move or say a word. He had imagined this scenario so many times – what he would do if he met the Order, what he could say to atone for all the horrible deeds he had done in his youth. What could a Death Eater say to a war hero? How could a creature of darkness ever expect forgiveness?

Neville was the first to step forward, and Draco braced himself for whatever Neville had to say. However, Neville didn’t speak; after a long moment of looking straight into Draco’s eyes, the leader of the Order stretched out his hand and held it out to Draco.

Afraid the moment might pass if he didn’t seize it, Draco took Neville’s hand and shook it firmly, his face obviously showing his incredulousness. Neville didn’t look away. “It’s been a long time, Malfoy,” he said finally, giving Draco’s hand one last shake before releasing it. “From what I’ve heard, we have a lot to be grateful to you for.”

Draco felt his throat tightening, and Hermione squeezed his hand to reassure him. Neville Longbottom was thanking him? For what? Deciding not to be a murderer anymore? Smuggling a few potions to an underground leader? The room seemed to be spinning, and Draco clutched Hermione’s hand as tightly as possible to make sure he wasn’t just dreaming all this, floating somewhere in the afterlife.

“Yes,” Angelina agreed before Draco could respond. She held her hand out as well, and Draco shook it in awe. “We had no idea what all you had done to keep the underground movement going. Your sacrifices have made our work possible, and we never knew.”

George nodded next to Angelina. “We had you figured wrong, Malfoy. We would never have made it this far without you and your group.”

“What?!” Draco exclaimed. Was he hearing this? Perhaps they had somehow forgotten who they were speaking to. “You don’t understand! I was a Death Eater. I was Voldemort’s right hand. I killed your people!”

Cho stepped forward. “You also turned your back on that life and chose to face whatever consequences you had to in order to do what was right. Dennis told us all about it! You worked undercover as long as you could, then you were given a horrible punishment when you were discovered. You even helped the underground after that, by giving potions and information.” Cho’s eyes were kind as she spoke to him. “You saved Hermione as well. You sacrificed your life for her and for us. What more could we expect from you?”

Draco was overwhelmed, his heart turning over inside itself as he processed what Cho was saying. They had _forgiven_ him. They considered him one of their own. Hermione had been right. “It’s not enough,” he whispered, hearing the strangled disbelief in his own voice. “It’s never enough, it couldn’t be…”

He sank to his knees, feeling Hermione’s arms wrap around him. He buried his face in his hands and, for the first time in many years, sobbed until he had no strength left. Of all the ways he imagined his story ending, he had never once hoped that he could find redemption in the eyes of these war heroes. Their compassion, their willingness to forgive, washed over him like a crushing wave, one that he longed to drown in for the rest of his life.

“You may not have forgiven yourself,” Hermione whispered to him, laying her face against his shoulder as he shook with sobs. “But we already have. One day, you’ll learn to see yourself the way we do.”

After several moments, Draco felt himself regaining control of his emotion and raised his head, gazing far into Hermione’s deep brown eyes. Swallowing the lump in his throat, Draco raised himself back up to his full height and gave each of the Order members standing before him a steady look. “Thank you,” he finally managed, not sure how to put his feelings into words. “You can never understand what… how much I…”

Hermione squeezed his hand to encourage him. Seeing Draco with the people she considered her family was an odd experience, but one that she hoped would become a normal one. Even she was amazed at their welcoming reactions to his change of heart; though she knew they would eventually accept him and forgive him, Hermione was infinitely glad that they had shown Draco such warmth. The look on his face and the tremble of his hand told Hermione that he was feeling the same amazement that she was.

The Order members didn’t respond, just gave him reassuring nods and cautious smiles. A pounding of footsteps from the hallway behind them made Neville turn around to see who was coming. Dennis Creevey slid into the room, his face covered in grime and his smile bright as a star.

“Longbottom, get out here and help us get these slimeballs contained!” Dennis said excitedly, shoving Neville’s shoulder playfully. “We’ve got more than four dozen groups –” Dennis stopped short in his enthusiastic speech when he noticed Draco standing by Hermione. Dennis’ face took on an expression of amazement, and he rushed forward to pull Draco into a hug.

“Malfoy!” he shouted excitedly, as he always seemed to be. He grabbed Draco by the shoulders and gave him a brilliant grin. “You’re here! You’re alive! You’re…” Dennis thought for a moment. “You’re not going to believe the mess outside.”

Draco laughed at that, feeling the stress and shock of the last few minutes begin to loosen at the sight of his old friend. “You git. I’m not back from the dead five minutes and you’re already dragging me into your hijinks.”

“Back from the dead?” Dennis squawked. “I can’t wait to hear the explanation for that. But in the meantime, I’ve got a fallout to deal with. Come on, Longbottom,” he declared, already heading for the hallway again. “Bring your people and help me get this straightened out. I’ve never won a war before.”

Neville couldn’t help but grin back at Dennis as he dashed down the hallway, Angelina and Cho following him a few seconds later. George paused and gave Hermione a fond smile. “I’m glad you’re back, ‘Mione,” he said kindly, then turned to follow the rest of the Order into the front lawn.

Hermione heard Blaise, Theodore, and Narcissa come up behind them, and she and Draco turned to face them. Narcissa’s eyes were full of tears, and she reached up to place both hands on Draco’s face. “It’s finally over,” she told him, relief obvious in her voice. “All these years, and it’s finally over.”

Draco nodded and leaned forward to kiss his mother’s forehead. “Thank you for everything you’ve done. If it weren’t for you, I…”

“Another time,” Narcissa cut in gently, nodding at the others in the room. “There’s been enough emotion here for one day,” she smiled. “Now, I will go see what I can do to help our new administration.”

Blaise and Theodore moved to follow Narcissa into the hallway, but Blaise stopped to put a hand on Draco and Hermione’s shoulders. “Thanks to you two,” he remarked, “Theodore here owes me fifty galleons.”

Theodore groaned exaggeratedly, and Blaise simply laughed. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Hermione asked, but Blaise just shook his head.

“As Mrs. Malfoy said so well, another time.” Blaise threw his arm around Theodore and walked into the hallway as well, whistling as they went to help on the battlefield.

Draco and Hermione watched them go, both ready to help with the fallout but neither one wanting to leave the quiet moment in the entry hall. Draco was still holding Hermione’s hand, and she looked up at him a little shyly, not sure what to say after such an eventful occurrence.

Draco finally spoke first. “I can’t believe I’m about to go out in the open again.”

Hermione smiled at that and chuckled. “I doubt you’ll find it’s changed much.”

“Everything has changed,” he replied, shaking his head. He took Hermione’s other hand in his and faced her squarely. “I thought my chances at happiness were over, but I was wrong. You’ve given me the hope and the inspiration to see the rest of this journey through. You’ve changed my entire life for the better.”

Hermione shrugged slightly. “I didn’t do all the work. You’re the one who decided to change your ways all those years ago.”

“Maybe,” he conceded. “But you’re the reason I’m alive today.”

“What did I tell you about true love?” she said teasingly. A smile tugged at the corners of Draco’s lips, and she reached her hands up to his shoulders, stepping closer into his arms. “I told you it had more power than you thought.”

Draco nodded thoughtfully, then leaned down to touch his forehead to hers. “Say it again,” he said quietly, kissing her with the gentleness of a feather.

Hermione returned his kiss, sliding her arms around his neck. “I love you,” she whispered against his lips. “I love you more than I can ever tell you.”

Draco buried his face against her neck, smiling at the tickling sensation of her hair on his cheek. “And I love you, Hermione Granger,” he answered. “I love you.”

He kissed her once more, letting his lips linger on hers before he pulled away. He drank in her gentle eyes, her freckled nose, her messy hair, and couldn’t help but smile as she stood on her toes to plant a kiss on his forehead. Taking a step back, she reached over to clasp his hand in hers and squeezed it affectionately.

“Let’s go see how much the open air has changed,” Hermione said, tugging his hand gently. “We’ve got a lot to do to get our world back to where it needs to be.”

Draco grinned in response and let her lead him. “We certainly do. My world is just beginning today,” he replied.

Together, Draco and Hermione took one last look behind them at the familiar entry hall, the kitchen door, the stone staircase, and then they walked hand-in-hand into the open hallway to greet the new world.


End file.
